Fate Gallica
by Topographic Ocean
Summary: Another Grail War has begun. This time in Lyon, France. Young Torsten Amsel enters the Grail War to fulfil a promise. However, he finds he needs more than that to survive a War between Magi and Servants! Original Masters and Servants.
1. Le Début

Chapter 1  
>Le Début<p>

"Was it you who summoned me, Peon?"

"I have come from the Heavens in response to your summons, Master"

"I have a feeling this partnership will bring big returns, Master"

"You're my Master, right?"

"You are my Master, ja? Gut."

"Ma-…ster…"

* * *

><p>From within a small Church on the edge of Lyon, France, a single voice could be heard on a cold autumn night.<p>

"Six Masters have been chosen. Finally, the Grail War is ready to begin." The source of the voice was talking to no one but themselves. "All that remains is one more Master and the ritual can commence."

The voice let out a small sigh of satisfaction before it resigned itself to silence.

* * *

><p><em>Today is the day<em>, thought the young man strutting proudly down the cold night time streets of Lyon. _I finally get my big chance!_

Torsten Amsel was excited. That night was the night he could follow through on the promise he made with his father. After his father, the only person who believed in his abilities, passed on, this promise became all the more important. He was to fight in the Holy Grail War, despite his ineptitude as a Magus. Ineptitude that was enough to get him expelled from the family at his father's passing.

Torsten was the first Magus in the Amsel House history to not be compatible with the family's Thaumaturgical Crest; the record of spells held by the Amsel house that was formed over centuries by passing it down the line of males through transplantation. As such, he was considered useless by most of his family. His father had always stuck by him, helping him learn the art the best he could. But even then, he was nowhere near as skilled as other Magi of the family. He even had a partial transplant of the Crest within him to this day, but he could not make it function.

Thus, this promise was more than just something he should do as a member of the Amsel family, but something that would be the last gift to his father.

But it wasn't the time to linger on the why he was going through with the summoning. It was the time to think of the how.

_I should recap what I need to know for tonight_, he thought. _Just to be sure_. So, as he walked home through the cold streets of Lyon, he recounted in his head the details of the Holy Grail War, and the part he was to play in it.

_First of all, there are seven competitors in the Holy Grail War. Each competitor is a Magus, a user of the Art. To compete, each competing Magus summons a Heroic Spirit to use as familiar in the war. The summoned Heroic spirits are split into seven distinct classes, each having their own strengths and weaknesses. The classes are Archer, Rider, Saber, Caster, Berserker, Lancer and Assassin. The summoned Heroic Spirits are known as Servants, the Magi as Masters. The Servant- Master pairs conduct a battle royale and the remaining pair claims the ultimate prize, the Holy Grail. It's said it can grant any wish imaginable. And it's through the Grail's power that the summoning of Heroic Spirits can even take place. _

Before Torsten knew it, he was at his front doorstep with time to initiate the summoning at hand. He opened the front door energetically, letting it fly from his hand and slam into the wall. Torsten ran straight down his front hallway, reaching the bottom of stairs to the second floor before running back to lock his front door. Quickly slamming his door shut and locking it tight, he ran down the hallway, up the stairs then up the next flight of stairs to the loft entrance.

To save some time, he had drawn the magic circle needed for the summoning up there the night before using the last magical jewels he had in his possession. Now all that was needed was a physical connection to the Servant that he intended to summon.

In his dusty loft, Torsten had concealed the only thing of worth he took from his family before leaving. In reality, this item was left to him by his father, given to him on his father's death bed. However, the rest of his family not wishing to part with a possible key to entering the Grail War, had promptly took it from Torsten before he left. He promptly stole it back, taking this as a chance to steal some magic jewels at the same time. That was six months ago to the day and he wasn't chased after. He had to wonder if either was missed at all.

Torsten retrieved this item from under some junk, deliberately placed on top to dissuade any interlopers. He held in his hands a wooden case. The case itself was of no importance, but its contents were priceless. He gently placed the case near the magic circle on the floor and opened the latches that kept its contents sealed from the world. Inside laid a leathery looking fabric cloth. It was like an extra wide scarf, that wasn't nearly as long as it should be, and joined by a tassel at one end to a tassel at the other. In reality, it was a bauldrick for a sword and it was to serve as the physical connection of a Heroic Spirit in this summoning.

Pushing the wooden case well outside the magic circle and placing the old and fragile bauldrick in the centre, Torsten moved to the edge of the circle and stood prepared to start the ritual.

_Here it goes!_

He cleared his throat loudly, more for effect than to actually cleared out his vocal chords. He began to chant the verse that would bring a Heroic Spirit back to Earth from the venerable Throne of Heroes.

"Ye first, O silver, O iron. O stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the contract, hear me in the name of our great teacher, the Archmagus Schweinorg"

The magic circle began to glow a deep red.

"Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Five perfections for each repetition."

The glow of the magic circle became brighter, illuminating the room, as he poured enough mana into it the circle to begin the summoning. The Holy Grail handled the rest, lending its power to perform the miraculous task of bringing an ancient hero to life.

"And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead."

Burning pain shot through Torsten's arms. The mana from the Grail poured into him, bringing with it a burning hot sensation that coursed from the tips of his fingers, up his arms and around his body.

"Set. Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade. If thou submittest to the call of the Holy Grail and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond."

The pain increased all around his body. It almost sought to break Torsten's concentration, to befoul the ritual and result in a failed summoning, but he couldn't let that happen. With the very fate of his father's promise on the line, and the threat of a failed summoning possibly resulting in a dangerous backfire of mana, he had no choice but to endure the aching hotness that permeated his body.

"I make my oath here. I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heavens. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades."

The magic circle was blindingly bright, forcing the young Magus to squint. The mana from the Grail started to burn at Torsten's very nerves, the pain changing from a throbbing ache to an jarring stab-like feeling.

"Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!"

The magic circle shone brighter than ever for a split second then immediately went black. The ritual was over. For ten straight seconds, Torsten stood in agony over the darkened circle, breathing hard. Nothing happened. Torsten wheeled around where he stood; he looked for a trace of a Servant but there was no trace to be found.

"Fuck… FUCK!" yelled Torsten, rage taking over, "I did everything right! I had the bauldrick, I made the perfect magic circle… Could I just be that bad a magus?" The pain of the failed summoning finally made his knees buckle from under him. Torsten snapped shut his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to run down his cheek.

"I tried Father… I'm sorry" he whispered, his voice beginning to break.

"Oh, so it failed did it? Bad luck." A voice rang out through the loft from dangerously close behind Torsten. He immediately spun around, a small knife forming in his hand through use of the Art. He tried to put on the fiercest face he could muster, but the tears that ran down his cheek subverted the look entirely.

"So you still have some fight in you? I admire your fervour, young peon," laughed the source of the voice, now visible to Torsten. It was a tall man, standing shirtless, with an ornate robe like skirt. He wore a tall cylindrical hat that grew slightly wider the higher it got from his head. However, the most striking feature about this man was his face, namely, the ornate eyeliner that traced his eyes, giving them a cold and harsh façade. Torsten could tell immediately that this was a Servant of some kind, and it certainly didn't seem like his.

_This is bad,_ was all his frazzled brain could muster. As much as the Servant was about six metres away, still barely in the doorway of the loft, Torsten was sure the Servant could close that distance easily if he had to.

"At least you are properly bowing to your superior. It's a shame you are still a risk even if this was a failed summons. You could have been one of my favourites." The Servant sounded disturbingly melancholic as he patronised the young Magus before him. The Servant took a step forward. It was then Torsten finally noticed the implement in the Servant's hand. It was beautiful golden sword, with a deadly looking curve beginning about a third of the way up the blade. A blade that, as Torsten understood, was called a Khopesh. It was an Egyptian weapon, and an ancient one at that.

_This is REALLY bad_ Torsten thought, _I cannot fight with a Servant._ Torsten slowly started to stand, keeping his eyes on the Servant in front of him and readying the small knife in a fighting stance. He knew nothing of fighting, but if he just parried a single blow, he thought he may be able to get behind the Servant and run.

The Servant seemed to be able to figure out what he was thinking, and a haughty sneer formed on his golden skinned face.

"Now this is no good. No good at all," the golden Servant remarked. "One sentenced for death should not stand to meet his superior and executioner." He took another step forward. The Servant was dangerously close now. Torsten was just within striking distance.

_CRAAAACK_. A loud noise of likes of snapping wood echoed from above. Both Torsten and the Servant quickly looked up, the Servant still with his sneer and Torsten with a look of dread at the possibility of more problems.

For a second, moonlight flooded the loft until a dark shape blocked the hole. The shape fell through the hole, giving way to the moonlight once again, landing between Torsten and the other Servant. The dark figure, illuminated clearly by the moonlight, was a very large man; over six feet at least, wearing rough leather boots, tartan patterned trousers and a ragged old shirt. The figure faced the Servant, blocking his face from Torsten's view, but it did not block the figure's weapon; a massive sword, at least five feet in length if not more, that the figure seemed to wield with both hands.

"Are ye my Master then?" Spoke the figure in booming voice, thick with an accent Torsten knew, but couldn't quite place. Torsten clearly didn't answer fast enough, as the large figure repeated himself louder and with a hint of annoyance.

"I said, Are ye my Master then?"

Torsten didn't hesitate this time.

"Y-yes!" he stammered, trying to sound confident. _He's my Servant! I did it!_ Torsten thought, a new confidence awakening within him.

"Aye, that's more like it. Call me Saber." As Torsten's Saber spoke, he always kept his gaze on the Servant in front of him, "Right then, we'll have tae get rid o' this dandy looking guy then". At the end of that utterance, Saber gave a huge swing with his sword at the golden Servant.

_CLANG_. A loud reverberating, metallic smash assaulted Torsten's ears. The golden Servant blocked Saber's blow with his curved blade. Both Servants stared into each other's eyes, and although Torsten couldn't see it, a large smirk could be seen forming across Saber's face. The other Servant, on the other hand, had the look of a King faced with a disobedient subject. Part surprised, part contorted in supreme rage.

"HOW DARE YOU STRIKE AT ME, PEON!" screamed the golden Servant, losing all composure, his blade locked with Saber's. The Holy Grail War had officially begun.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

This is the first thing I've ever written so I'm not going to pretend it's a brilliant piece of work, but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! ^^

I have stuff planned for the short term, but my release schedule will be very strange. University WILL get in the way, and it comes first!

Anyway, if it _is_ 'that bad'... be kind? XD

But seriously, criticism is welcome and appreciated. :)

Again, I hope you enjoyed it and come back for more when it arrives!

P.S Torsten gets better, and yeah, Saber's identity is pretty obvious... But that's kinda the point. At least to the reader! XD


	2. Sabre

Chapter 2  
>Sabre<p>

The two Servants faced each other in both a physical and verbal battle for supremacy, swords and eyes locked. The large one called Saber was definitely the stronger physically, but the golden Servant was not making his job easy.

"A feisty one eh?" joshed Saber, increasing the force behind his massive blade, "How does it feel to be overpowered by a mere 'peon'?"

"You dare speak to me in such a rough manner?" the Servant replied, the strain apparent in his laboured speech, "You would do well to respect those of higher breeding, foolish mortal!"

The golden Servant was straining under the weight of Saber's huge blade and, although he tried to keep composure, it was clear to even a dumbstruck Torsten that the golden Servant was having a hard time keeping his stance stable, never mind attempting to parry Saber's sword.

"'Foolish mortal'? Hah!" Saber let out a laugh, his grip tightening on his sword, "I didnae think I'd have tae deal with shite like this in this day and age! But I suppose you're nae from this day age now are ye?" Saber made a sudden but smooth jerk forward with his blade, dislodging the locked weapons and pushing the golden Servant back, unbalancing him. The golden Servant's face contorted in frustration at his breaking of balance, but used the backwards momentum to move back through the doorway of the loft.

_The large blade of that insubordinate trash won't get a clean swing now,_ he mused, a sneer returning to his face, _I can at least with my dignity._

Saber kept his stance, not moving forward. His large figure made it hard for Torsten to see just what happened, but Torsten could tell that Saber was at a disadvantage now. The golden Servant was behind a narrow gap and at a much more comfortable range. Luckily, it didn't seem he wanted to stick around and fight. He still had some pompous talk in him, however.

"As much as I hate to say it, I don't think I could fight you here and now Saber," uttered the golden Servant, his voiced laced with paradoxical condescension. "I have much more important matters to be dealing with right now. I'm going to have to bid you farewell, Peon. I hope you learn how to behave around your superiors before we meet again."

"More important matters? Like nae getting sliced in two by my blade?" scoffed Saber, "Fine. On yer horse and git."

Saber kept his stance and his blade remained at the ready, but he took no effort to step forward, or advance on the golden Servant. This battle was over as far as he was concerned. There really were more pressing matters to deal with right now.

"Bite your tongue peon, or next time I won't be so forgiving!" snapped the golden Servant before quickly turning and taking a massive leap down the stairs behind him. Saber kept a watch on him as he flipped over the middle banister of the stairs and left his sight.

Saber held his stance still for a full minute; a minute that felt like an hour to Torsten, still standing behind the imposing figure of his Servant. He eventually thought to speak out, but his Servant finally loosening his grip on his blade and returned to a casual posture.

"Well, that was a right screwed up little guy huh?" Saber muttered, finally turning to face Torsten, his Master. "Things were looking a wee bit grim there. Being summoned on the neighbour's roof? A little unorthodox don't ye think Master?" A huge grin spread across Saber's face.

Torsten finally got a good look at his Servant's face for the first time. He had thick and messy beard that framed his entire face and he had a creased face the like of one who had faced many trials through his life. He didn't seem especially old, however. That deep brown beard of his must have added years to his apparent age, Torsten surmised.

"Well? Are ye gonna' say anything or jes' stare at me then?" Saber said, stilling grinning. Torsten composed himself, shaking the hesitation from his mind with a real shake of the head and looked up to his Servant's face again. That was no small feat in itself as Saber was at least a full foot taller than Torsten.

"Uh… So you're my Servant then?" Torsten said, trying to sound confident in front of the mountain of a man and failing.

"No, I'm the Pope. Of course I'm your Servant! What kind o' question is that coming fae a Master?" Saber joked. But his voice was not without a hint of concern.

"I'm sorry" Torsten blurted out, "I didn't expect… I… Oh I don't know what I was thinking!" Torsten almost broke there and then. Saber's concern clearly wasn't misplaced.

"Look, is there somewhere we can have a natter? Somewhere where can sit down?" inquired Saber, the concern clear in his voice this time. "We have tae have a serious talk"

"Uh, sure, follow me" replied Torsten, rather meekly.

_Shit… _Torsten thought, _just what have I got myself into?_

* * *

><p>The golden Servant kept running despite being at least five hundred metres away from the house of the young Master he had just raided.<p>

_Damn them… Damn them to Duat! _the Servant cursed as he ran, angry at himself for being upstaged by such trash, heathens as they were. He continued to run through the cold streets of Lyon until he reached a specific alleyway, where he had left his Master.

_'Master'_ the Servant mused to himself. _What a joke. Who could be the Master of me? More like a fleshy bag of mana._ He rounded the corner into the alleyway and found his Master where he had left him. It was hard to see in the dark, but the street lights gave an otherworldly glow to the edge of the alley, revealing trashcans and trash bags scattered around a greasy and dank hollow within a normally clean and vibrant street façade.

"Was it the Roux girl?" he asked immediately, with a thick Iberian accent. He stood to reach his full six foot height from a trashcan that was acting as a makeshift seat. The Master of the golden Servant was a strikingly handsome man and, at twenty one years of age, he was extremely fit. His toned body was visible through the sufficiently tight white shirt he wore with a matching black tie and black pants. He was stark contrast to his Servant's very regal and ancient attire.

The golden Servant didn't feel like talking, preferring not to remind himself of his own disgrace, but he thought it best to answer this question. It was keeping his Master on a short leash after all. Not that he had to force his Master into submission. It was part of his existence and power as a Servant to hold a natural command over others. Even his own Master within the Holy Grail War who he was bound to as a tool and not a partner in many a Magi's eyes.

"Unfortunately, it was not," replied the Servant, a deliberate annoyance lacing his speech. "It was a young and inexperienced Master. I'm surprised the summoning succeeded. I think he was too, to be quite honest."

"So, Rider, you killed this Master and his Servant?" inquired his Master, seemingly oblivious to the sour attitude of his Servant. Upon hearing this question, the Servant known as Rider shifted his posture, uncomfortable.

"You failed?" the Master said, no discernable disappointment in his voice.

"I did not fail!" yelled Rider, the makeup on his face failing to disguise his rage. "How could I know that little piece of trash could summon a Saber!" Rider's Master gave him a blank stare, enduring the crazed response to his rather normal question.

"So he summoned a Saber," the Master murmured to himself. "The most powerful of all the classes. Clearly this Master can't be trash like you say to summon such a Servant. Well, this is unexpected good tidings. If this young Master has Saber like you say, then it's impossible for Josephine Roux to have one." The Master began to chuckle quietly to himself, content with such a boon so early into the War.

"Come," Rider interjected into his Master's moment of joy. "We should get moving. Who knows when we could encounter the Roux girl? You don't want her to get the jump us do you?"

"You're right Rider." The Master put a stop to his laughter. The pair walked deeper into the bowels of the alleyway, melting into the darkness of the night.

* * *

><p>Torsten sat in the living room on the house's first floor, in his only armchair. His house was not very well furnished considering he had been cast off from his family with nothing but what he stole and the clothes on his back. However, the young Magus had been saving up money for a long time and was able to furnish and rent out this house for long enough on his savings to go without having to look for a job until the Holy Grail War was supposed to be finished.<p>

Saber took up most of the only other seat in the room, the couch, which he shifted from its usual position to directly across from Torsten in his armchair. Saber had a stern look on his face and it was putting Torsten at even more unease than he already was. The fact that Saber's massive sword was laid horizontally across his lap, gleaming in the artificial light of the living room didn't exactly help.

"Alright, first of all, introductions," Saber stated, in his hand a cloth that he was cleaning his sword with, slowly and methodically.

Torsten hesitated for a second, expecting Saber to start the introductions. From Saber's burning stare, it was clear he was more asking who Torsten was than anything else.

"M-My name is Torsten Amsel," stammered Torsten, forcible raising the confidence in his words as he spoke, "And I am a Magus of the Amsel house of Magi."

"Good, so ye know yer name at least!" joked Saber, his stern expression disappearing. Torsten relaxed just in time to see it return.

"Now, I have tae tell ye right now. We have a big problem," stated Saber, returning to a stony face and steely gaze like he was flipping a small mental switch within his brain. The change was jarring. "You are not ready for this task ahead o' us. I can tell just by looking at ye. You don't have the eyes of a warrior, or even a Magus. A Magus is supposed tae be someone who is ready tae kill at any time, and ready to die at any time. I donnae know your reasons behind joining this War, but they clearly aren't strong enough tae make you prepared for the world of death you have just stepped intae. So tell me, what is your reason for joining this War?"

Taken aback by Saber's bluntness and the hint of anger in his voice, Torsten hesitated to answer honestly about his reason on joining the Holy Grail War. However, overriding that thought was the notion that a certain level of trust needed to be brokered with his Servant. If Torsten felt the need to lie this early in his relationship with Saber, then things were not going to work out well between them. It didn't help that Torsten felt Saber would see right through any pathetic lie he told in even if he did try to.

"I joined this Holy Grail War to fulfil a promise to my Father," stated Torsten, loud and proud. "That's all the reason I have." Saber didn't seem all that impressed.

"While very commendable, that sort o' reason will nae get you through this War," Saber said bluntly, "Without a selfish cause tae be in this War, you cannae survive. This leads me tae my next question. Dae you have a wish for the Grail if ye win?"

"No I do not," replied Torsten bluntly. There was nothing more to it. The promise to his father only really covered entering the War and he never thought about it any further. Saber almost fell off the couch.

"You mean ye promised tae enter this War with nae true drive tae win?" questioned Saber, his voice growing louder in frustration. He stood, looming high over his seated Master. "You are fool, a bloody fool! Naïve as they come! You are in a battle royale tae the death over the ultimate power. The power tae grant any wish imaginable! Do ye understand how low people will sink tae attain this power? You must be prepared tae take the life of anyone that gets in your way!"

Saber stopped his rage filled speech and sat back into the couch. His were eyes closed and his arms were crossed as he tried to calm himself down. Torsten took the speech to heart.

_I really have been naïve… _he thought. _Father… Why did you want me in this War? Why did I join this War? I was supposed to have a wish? Did you think I did?_

"Listen." Saber interrupted Torsten's reverie, his face once again calm but austere. "I didnae mean tae question ye as a person. But ye have tae understand. You need tae find a reason to fight; a wish, something tae hold ontae. Ye've upheld your promise tae your Father and that's grand, but ye need a reason tae finish this fight. There is nae quitting the Holy Grail war. Look at the back of your hand."

Torsten obeyed, knowing exactly what Saber wanted him to see. On the back of Torsten's hand is a mark, not unlike a tattoo, that wasn't there before the summoning. This was Torsten's link to Saber, and the proof of his contract with him as a Master and a Servant; the Command Spells. Each Master is given three Command Spells. These spells have the power to allow miracles to occur, and force a Servant to obey a command even at the cost of warping reality itself. However, once all three are utilised, the contract between Master and Servant is broken, and the Master has no sway over a Servant's actions any longer. Torsten's was shaped very much like a Celtic knot.

"With these Spells," Saber continued. "You are stuck with me as your Servant. There's nae turning back. As such, ye need a reason tae fight. For now, your reason tae fight is simple. If ye don't, we'll have another little talk, and next time ye'll get a boot up the arse for your trouble!"

At the mention of a 'boot up the arse', Torsten couldn't help but let out a laugh. Maybe it was the accent, or the amusing notion of itself, but Torsten just couldn't hold it in. To his surprise, Saber wasn't mad. In fact, he seemed quite content with a smile spread across his face, washing away his stern demeanour.

"Well!" Saber said. "If ye think that's funny why don't I give you a boot up the arse now?" Torsten continued to laugh, holding his sides.

"Jokes aside!" Saber yelled over Torsten's laughter, causing him to stop immediately. "I hope you take what I said tae heart. A lack of resolve dulls your blade. _I_ am your blade. So please, keep that in mind." Saber, finished with his talk of reasons and resolve, sat back into the couch once again content.

_Hopefully, with Saber's help, I can get through this._ Torsten felt himself calm down at the thought of working with his Servant. Upon pondering this, however, Torsten realised that the pair had only been discussing Torsten himself.

"So, you're a Saber class Servant?" inquired Torsten, figuring he should know more about this giant of a man sitting on his couch.

"That I am. I told ye tae call me Saber didn't I?" Saber replied, "Which reminds me, there was something else I meant to talk about. That is, me. Now, it's the norm for a Servant tae reveal his true identity tae their Master. It's both a form of courtesy and allows the Master tae know the Servants true power and abilities. But there's the catch!" He snapped his fingers.

"Knowing the true identity o' a Servant basically allows ye tae know all their true powers," Saber continued, "If an enemy knew my true name they would have an advantage o'er us. This brings me tae the point o' this discussion. I think it's best if I don't tell ye my identity for the time being." Saber stopped there, hoping that Torsten would understand exactly why he didn't want to share this information.

"I understand," Torsten said immediately, "Seeing as we are facing Magi, all one has to do is try to invade my mind or use some sort of familiar to find your identity if I know it." Torsten knew the real implication behind Saber's words. The reason Torsten wasn't to be privy to Saber's identity is because he was an inferior Magus. It hurt to admit it, but Torsten knew Saber's idea made sense.

"Good!" Saber exclaimed. "Dae ye have any questions for me then Master?" Saber looked at Torsten expectantly.

"I guess I have one. I think from your voice alone I can tell where you're from. Were you from Scotland?" Torsten immediately noticed the odd accent of the Servant in front of him in the loft, the moment he spoke. It had been bothering him ever since, but when he sat down and listened to Saber's lecture, he thought he had it figured out.

"Considering it's usually the biggest dead giveaway about me, I suppose I can answer that," Saber said, looking a little annoyed, "Aye, I am from Scotland. That's all I'll say on the matter tho'. That's all then?"

"Yes, for now at least." Torsten paused for a second, leaving a dearth in the conversation. Saber looked at him expectantly. The young Magus forced himself to speak. "Well, I may be an inept Magus, and probably a faulty Master as a result, but I hope we can work together in this. I'm sorry you've got stuck with me Saber, but I appreciate the help." Torsten stood and extended his hand.

"It cannae be helped!" Saber said jokingly as he stood to grasp Torsten's hand in his own giant fist. "Servants have the choice to reply tae a summons ye know. It's jes' us much my fault as it is yours I'm stuck with ye!" The two shook hands firmly, now truly paired as Master and Servant.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Well, Happy New Year to all! ^^

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I was hoping it would be up on New Years Day, but I got a bit sidetracked I'm afraid.

Anyway, the next chapter won't have nearly as long a gap between releases. I hope to keep a steady pace up for a few months if possible.

Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and had as much fun reading as I did writing! ^^


	3. Vieux Amis, Nouveaux Ennemis

Chapter 3  
>Viex Amis, Nouveaux Ennemis<p>

After a dead sleep, Torsten awoke in his bedroom to find he had slept in for his shift at work. Considering he was now in a battle for the Holy Grail, he figured he could just call in sick with the flu giving him a good deal of time off.

"So yer awake then?" said the voice of Saber as he materialised before Torsten's blurry eyes.

That's right… Torsten remembered. Servants can spiritualise themselves… Turn ethereal… He got himself upright and out of bed, deciding just to get ready for the day. The first thing he did was call in sick at work, implying he could be gone for a while.

After enduring a lecture from a less than understanding manager, Torsten had a quick shower and got dressed. He was unsure of what was ahead of him today, but Saber had said before he vanished last night that he had a plan for today's activities that he wished to share. After getting ready, Torsten head downstairs where he found Saber lounging on the couch, looking bored.

"Finally!" Saber exclaimed upon laying his eyes on Torsten, swiftly jumping up from the couch. "Come on, we're going fae a walk about town! I need tae check out the battleground fae this War properly. Gi' us a tour!"

"O-ok, that's a good idea!" agreed Torsten as Saber spiritualised, becoming completely invisible. He couldn't help but feel a great deal of relief if this was Saber's plan for the day. It was most certainly something he could handle. With that, Torsten went to the front door and stepped out into a cold Autumn day in the city of Lyon.

* * *

><p>Blood formed a pool around the dead body, expanding slowly in all directions. The eviscerated corpse was stained the same colour as the blood that flowed from it. The kill had been sweet for the woman that stood by the body. She loved the feeling of the blood against her skin, its rosy red colour, the way it spread beautifully from her victims. Currently drenched in still warm blood, she knew it would be hard to get back to her apartment now.<p>

Standing at five foot eight, with chest length straight black hair and wearing a simple Jeans and T-Shirt combo, Adelheid Rotmensen didn't look like a murderer. This was exactly what she wanted. A simple wink and jerk of her head had lured the stupid man to this alleyway after she noticed him staring at her. That kind of person made her addiction easy to satiate.

"Another one! That's the third one since you summoned me," said a voice behind her. "Do you have no self control?"

"I don't need something so banal like that," started Adelheid, almost in a moan. "I don't get to see the red flowers bloom with self control." She turned to the voice to find a man clad in rough plate armour. It was in very large pieces as if he had fashioned it himself in an unprofessional manner. Over the armour he wore a large brown coat, not unlike a trench coat, that covered the armour that he wore on his arms. His most striking feature was the armoured helmet he wore, only bearing an open line for the man's eyes which were cold and dead, and cylindrical in shape until merging into his dull chest plate. He was an imposing figure, but no one Adelheid needed to be afraid of.

"Whatever you say Master," conceded the armoured man, his thick accent being given a tinny and chilling echo thanks to his helmet. "But we should move on, eh? Don't want to get caught by anyone with this sorry thing do you?" The armoured man was impatient. He had to deal with this two times already and, while he had no qualms about his Master murdering people, he didn't feel that it was a good idea to hang around with a dead body to watch the 'red flowers bloom'.

Whatever the fucking hell that means, he thought to himself, frustrated.

"Archer," Adelheid suddenly said, her voice taking on a disturbing seriousness, masking her rage and her blank blue eyes burning into the armoured man's head. "Watch your tongue. I am the Master here. I don't need direction from a tool. Clear?" She continued to stare at him, awaiting an answer.

"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha Master," Archer sighed, putting a hand into his coat. "I'm just your gun right? You point me, and I shoot." Archer pulled out an old revolver and started spinning it in his hand. He did this when he was frustrated. It gave him the feeling he could just pull the trigger and get rid of the problem, whatever it may be, whether he really could or not.

Adelheid returned to her almost pensive state. She stared at the body and the blood flowing from the knife wounds in its chest and stomach. Lately, it had been harder to feel the buzz from her killings. She felt empty and the killings usually filled that void in her soul. It had not been working of late, so she had been killing more and more. It was of no avail, but she could not stop. She had a longing that could not be filled. Her brooding state lasted for a full two minutes as she gazed upon her handiwork.

"Come on," she ordered suddenly. "We should get back to the apartment and figure out what to do about that golden Servant and his lap dog of a Master. Give me your coat." Archer handed Adelheid his coat with no complaints and she put it on. It would do as good as job as any in hiding her blood stained clothes until she got back to the apartment and had a shower.

"Finally," Archer exclaimed, exasperated. "Lead the way Master." Luckily, the apartment was moderately close by, and could be reached by following the alleys. Archer could stay non-ethereal. If some unlucky person wandered into their path, he'd just kill the poor sod.

* * *

><p>"That's pretty much it for the main areas of Lyon," stated Torsten under his breath while walking down a street. "Well, the areas of the arrondrissements bordering the Rhone and Saone rivers." Torsten had covered the main nine arrondrissements of Lyon, which divided the city into pieces. The two rivers, the Rhone and Saone, split the nine arrondrissements into three large chunks as they weaved into the city and join together near it's south, one surrounded by the two rivers until they converge and the others on the opposite sides of each river.<p>

"Tis a beautiful city," spoke a voice that followed Torsten. "A shame it's going tae be the site of a magical War, eh?" Luckily only Torsten could hear Saber when he was in his ethereal form.

Torsten had to agree. Lyon was beautiful French city, and he'd been lucky enough to hear it would be the site of the next Grail War when he arrived. He knew the local representative of the church, a priest by the name of Chevalier, through a family connection. He was the one who told him about Lyon as the location of the Grail War. He was the Church's representative in the War after all; the third party, sent by the Church, to watch over the Holy Grail War so as to ensure a reasonably humane conflict.

_I should probably see Father Chevalier at some point,_ Torsten pondered. _It might be wise to make sure he doesn't tell the rest of the Amsel family about my joining the War. _

"See here," Saber's disembodied voice started, breaking Torsten's thoughts. "Pay attention. I have a bad feeling for some reason." Torsten took a moment from his thoughts to scan the area. It was a crowded area, in broad daylight. What could happen?

"Behind you!" Saber screamed in Torsten's ear. He turned immediately, and was taken aback at what he was confronted with. It was an entire cadre of big men in suits only four feet behind him, each man the epitome of the term 'Suits'. Big, stern and about as emotive as a rock, they were all dressed in plain black suits. Within this platoon of Suits, however, was a rather small man by comparison to his entourage. With slicked back blonde hair, an immaculate black pinstripe suit and a handsome face, he looked like a wealthy Banker.

"Oh, so you noticed!" the small man within the Suits exclaimed. "Good thing too. It would have been strange to just approach you without you noticing me first. Can you imagine?" He rounded off his little line with a chuckle. As he did so, the wall of men parted without as much as a wave of the little man's hand, as if they just knew to, and Torsten was at the end of a tunnel of Suits, face to face with the sharp dressed man.

"It's always nice to meet an opponent," he stated jovially as he stepped forward to Torsten. "Especially when it's the last left to greet!" He wore a smile on his face revealing his brilliantly perfect white teeth that looked almost abnormal in their perfection. The sharp dressed man extended a hand, clearly open for a shake. Acting more on instinct than anything else, and against the protests of the voice of Saber in his ear, Torsten shook the sharp dressed man's hand.

"You naïve fool!" Saber yelled upon Torsten's grasping of the man's hand. "You bloody ijit!"

"Now, down to business!" the sharp dressed man declared, clasping his hands and chaffing them. "I have a proposition for you, young Master!"

_This is bad, _Torsten finally realises. _He obviously knows I'm a Master… Is he a Master too?_

"Come now," a third voice said, out of both Torsten and the sharp dressed man's view. "Meeting in daylight? You had the decency to meet me at night at least, Mr. Sharp Suit."

Both Torsten and the sharply dressed man turned in the direction of the voice. Two women step out of the crowd of pedestrians walking around the cadre of Suits. Both stunningly beautiful, one was taller than the other at about five foot ten. She had a long blond braided ponytail that reached her feet and bright blue eyes, with incredibly pale skin. She was wearing a surprisingly casual denim jacket and tank top to match her jeans and boots, but seemed rather rigid and uncomfortable.

_It couldn't have been this one that spoke,_ he thought. _She seems too uncomfortable for a statement like that._

That was when his attention moved to the shorter woman, who seemed much younger than the taller one. Close to his age in fact. When he looked at her face, he almost dropped his jaw in astonishment.

"Roux! Josephine Roux!" exclaimed Torsten. If he wasn't in public, he may have let his knees buckle beneath him. However, he was able to stay in control of himself.

"Ah," the sharp dressed man said, his enthusiasm disappearing quickly. "The Roux girl. We're trying to conduct business here little princess. Shoo, shoo." The man gives an exaggerated 'shoo' gesture with his hands.

"Oh really? Business, you say?" asks the short woman, incredulous. "Get out of my sight you worm. I have no patience to waste on a fool such as you." Her words were cold as ice, and betrayed no hidden emotion. She was serious.

"This looks like a deal I can't close!" said the sharp dressed man, throwing his hands in the air. "I bid you good day, Master of Saber." The man turned with the tunnel of Suits closing to surround the man as he walked away.

_Wait…_ Torsten suddenly realised, _how the hell did he know I'm the Master of Sa-_ Before he could finish processing that scary thought, a chilling voice broke his chain of thought.

"What the _hell_ do you think you are doing?" chided Josephine Roux. "Do you even know who that man is? Wait, besides that, what the hell are you doing in this War? And don't deny it, that man only approaches Masters for his devious means." Josephine was still cold as ice, but much angrier than she was with the other man. She spoke so fast and asked so much, Torsten didn't know where to begin.

"What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?!" Torsten countered. "The first time I see you in ten years and that's what you have to say?" Josephine had changed a lot in those ten years. For one, she had become a woman. With long auburn hair, small facial features and blue eyes as piercing as the woman standing next to her, she was a far cry from the ten year old girl that a nine year old Torsten said good bye to all those years ago. But the main difference was her attitude. Josephine had never been this seemingly unfeeling as a child. It was a shock to Torsten's system to simply hear her speak in such a cold hearted manner.

"Of course it's what I have to say! I'm a Magus of the Roux family and the next heir! It is my duty to attain the Grail. You, on the other hand, are the failure of the Amsel family. How did you even get into this War?" Roux crossed her arms, and lifted her head enough to look down at Torsten, her eyes frigid and her face shrouded in contempt.

Torsten knew his reason wouldn't suffice for Roux. It certainly didn't suffice for Saber. But, there was no real reason to lie. In any case, if he tried to lie and she found out, he was sure this new Roux wouldn't take too kindly to it. That and he didn't feel like lying to an old friend anyway, even one that seems to have changed so much.

"I promised my father I would," Torsten stated, confidently and without hesitation.

Roux's eyes narrowed, going from expectant to pure contempt in less than a second.

"You naïve idiot!" she yelled at him, the tall woman with her giving a small shake of her head in agreement with her companion and her disgust with Torsten's resolve.

"Told ye so," Saber said, followed by a chuckle. Clearly he wasn't concerned now that the man had left. Which struck Torsten as odd right away, but he had more pressing matters to worry about now.

"I knew you were a fool, but I didn't think you would do something this stupid," Roux hissed. "I'm being merciful this time Torsten Amsel! Next time we meet you'd best be prepared and have a reason to fight. Otherwise, it's going to be hard killing you."

"Come," Roux barked to the tall pale woman, and they walked off, melding into the crowd of pedestrians.

"Wait, come back! Josephine!" yelled Torsten into the crowd, but she had already disappeared into the throng of people, leaving no trace.

"That was pretty intense back there," Saber said into Torsten's ear. "I think we should watch out fae that girl. She seems tae have it out for you"

_What is wrong with her? _Was the only thing Torsten could think about, _how could Josephine turn so cold in the time they've been apart? How could she threaten to KILL me?_

"Earth tae Torsten!" Saber yelled in Torsten's ear, causing him to blanche. "Bloody hell, were ye even listening tae me? We need tae watch out fae that Roux girl. She means business." Torsten came back to reality with the yell, rubbing his ears.

"But," Torsten started, turning to walk in the direction of his house. "What about that man in the suit? You even called me a… what was it? Eejeet? For shaking the guy's hand." Torsten thought back to the sharp dressed man. He was definitely an enigma. To make matters worse, he knew that Torsten was the Master of Saber.

"Oi, no knocking the accent. And you _are_ an ijit. Shaking that random guy's hand like that? He could have been anyone! And from the sounds o' it, he knows a lot about you. Us, I should say. He seems suspicious, but that Josephine is something else. For one, she knows ye and second, she seems tae have a grudge against you. You're going tae fight her sooner or later and she isnae gonna hold back. You'll need tae be prepared tae dae the same." Saber reprimanded his Master without holding back. As far as he was concerned, his designation as a Servant under a Master meant little given who his Master was.

"You can't be serious," Torsten said exasperated. "I've known her since I was a kid!"

"Yeah, well, that didnae seem tae matter tae her now did it?" the Servant pointed out, bothered with Torsten's unwillingness to grasp the situation. Torsten knew Saber had a point. But he couldn't bring himself to truly believe she was honestly out for his blood.

_There must be something wrong with Roux,_ thought Torsten, _something must have happened since last I saw her._

"Anyway, ye've shown me most of Lyon, so heading back home is a good idea. There is still some more things tae cover between us before we truly head into battle ourselves," suggested Saber.

Torsten heard Saber, but he wasn't paying full attention. Faced with the prospect of fighting a childhood friend, he had to ask himself again: _What have I got myself into?_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's<strong> **Note:**

Same as usual, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and any critiquing is welcome! More is on the way, of course. ^^


	4. Puissance et le Passé

Chapter 4  
>Puissance et le Passé<p>

It was early night by the time Torsten reached his house. The wind's chill made getting back even more of a godsend than it already was. After meeting Roux on the streets of Lyon, and as a Master in the Holy Grail war no less, he was shaken to his core.

_I'll have to fight her. Whether or not I believe she'll kill me, we have to fight._ That thought cut through his mind like a blade, and it brought pain with it just as a blade would.

"Right, the day isnae over. Since this is the last night before we have tae get active, I'll need tae know your skills before we enter combat." As Saber finished his sentence, he had materialised and started walking to the lounge room. Torsten followed, nervously fiddling with his own fingers.

After both were seated, Saber decided to ease the very obvious fears of his Master. "Now listen, I don't actually care what power you actually have. I'll be honest in that I didnae expect you tae join me in a fight. However, I think its best if I dae know yer strengths so we can work out how exactly tae proceed."

"Ok then," Torsten said, not very relieved. Torsten was embarrassed greatly by his ineptitude as a Magus. The Amsel House of Magi were a long and strong line of Magi. He was the weakest Magus in the line for some time, despite having the normal amount of Magic Circuits within him to use the traditional Amsel speciality with ease.

"So tell me," Saber inquired. "What skills dae you have? It could be anything; spells, curses, some physical combat experience. Whatever skill ye think could help in a fight, tell me." Torsten shuffled, uncomfortable at the thought of having little to talk about in any of those categories.

"Don't worry, lad," Saber reassured, a warm smile on his face. "I'm simply your blade. I'm nae here tae judge." The simple act of smiling reassured Torsten to no end and surprisingly, despite Saber's often jocular nature, Torsten rarely saw him simply smile. He'd laugh at a joke and grin, but he always carried a very heavy neutral expression most the time. A simple smile that wasn't punctuating a joke was a welcome sight. It felt somehow genuine, and a true reflection of Saber's nature.

"Well… I know some basic Reinforcement and Projection, or Gradation Air if you prefer. So I can strengthen objects with Reinforcement and create objects for a short amount of time using Projection. I'm not very well versed in much else really…" Torsten trailed off, still ashamed despite Saber's reassuring attitude.

"So ye could make weapons then?" Saber asked, his voice rising in anticipation.

"Well, yes, but they don't last for very long. You see, they are formed of 'nothing' as a Mage can't simply bring something into existence. In Projection, you're merely forming an object out of Prana within you. Since it's not supposed to exist, it will dissolve after a period of time." Saber's face immediately fell upon hearing this, and it didn't help Torsten feel any better.

"So… That's all? Nothing else?" Saber asked, not really expecting anything more from Torsten, but figuring not asking may seem quite cruel considering the boy's obvious embarrassment. As much as Saber said he expected little of Torsten, he was hoping for more.

"Well… actually…" Torsten began but trailed off.

"What? Ye can tell me. We're a team right?" Saber's smile returned.

"Well, there is the Amsel speciality. I'm not so good at it, but I can usually pull it off with proper concentration and time. It's called Räumlich Einsturz, and it's the spell that the Amsel House uses as its family line spell." Torsten spoke so fast that when he was finished he thought that Saber may not have quite caught it.

"I'm sorry but, Räumlich Einsturz? I cannae speak a lick o' German, so can ye enlighten me?"

"Basically, it's Spatial Collapse; a way of controlling space. Specifically, crushing an area of space, destroying whatever is in that space at the time. It's pretty hard for me to pull off actually. It's not exactly a normal action either. It's based off of an Eastern form of the Art, using Western principles..." Torsten's voice trailed off, and Saber knew why.

"Listen," Saber began getting off the couch and kneeling on one leg in front of Torsten. "You've got tae have more faith in yerself. I may not have known you for very long, but I can tell from the fact that you haven't broken down that you're stronger than you think. You need tae believe in that strength. I dae, you should too." Torsten was shocked. The fact that a legendary hero just kneeled in front of him was crazy enough, but said hero just tried to encourage him. It was hard to argue with his Servant.

"I… Uh…" Torsten stammered, trying to create a cohesive sentence out the swirling thoughts of embarrassment and gratitude within his head.

"It's alright lad, I'm just telling ye exactly what ye need to hear." Saber was serious and within his eyes burned a determination that Torsten had never seen before.

"Th-thank you!" the young Master exclaimed. "Now, stand up… It's kind of weird having you kneel like that you know." Saber immediately returned to his seated position on the coach, giving a small contented chuckle.

"I said it's alright lad. I don't need thanks for telling the truth," Saber said before a serious expression stole away his warmth once again. "Now, tell me more about this Amsel line spell. The more I know the better."

"Well, it's pretty simple. I recite an incantation, then the spell name. It's like any other spell. However, I have to clamp my hand into a fist for this particular spell. But that's not so odd. I have about a max range of a metre, and I have to close the fist in the direction of the target. Eye contact with the target is important but not completely necessary. The spell will still activate, but its accuracy obviously takes a dive. However…" Torsten trailed off, dropping his gaze.

"However…? Don't hold out me now!" Saber joked.

"Well…" Torsten hesitated. "I've only pulled it off a few times. It takes a lot of concentration for me to use it; too much for it to be effective in battle. I have to recite the full incantation due to not accepting the Thuamaturgical Crest of the Amsel line. As such, it's pretty useless to us."

"I don't know about that," Saber immediately responded, fire in his eyes. "Ye've shown some determination and backbone already. Like I said, any other person in your position may have already broken down. I think you have what it takes tae use that spell. And I can help! But for now, we should end things here."

"Why? I thought you were going to help me with my spell?"

"That I am lad. But we begin tomorrow. We're going to Servant hunting tomorrow night!" With that Saber spiritualised, ending the conversation abruptly.

"H-Huh? What?! Servant hunting? Tomorrow? Are you kidding me Saber? Get back here!" Torsten yelled at the empty room. Saber didn't reply. Torsten stood for a few moments, tapping his foot on the ground as if waiting will somehow urge Saber to reveal himself again. It didn't. "I suppose I should just get to bed."

"Damn you Saber," Torsten said under his breath, scared for what tomorrow may bring.

* * *

><p>Torsten lay in bed, exhausted and trying to sleep, but his own worries about tomorrow's jump into the Holy Grail War proper kept his stressed mind .<p>

_Hunting a Servant? Saber must be nuts. How am I supposed to jump right into a fight with a Master and Servant when I can barely fight as it is?_

Upon thinking of the term 'Master', Torsten's thoughts immediately jumped to Roux.

Josephine Roux; once a childhood friend and now an enemy. While he had calmed down since getting home, Torsten was still finding it hard to come to terms with fighting an old friend. An old friend that he actually considered his only true friend.

_Surely she hasn't changed and she was just saying those things out of anger. Surely…_

Torsten's eyes slowly closed and he succumbed to sleep. His mind, however, had other ideas, and proceeded to create a dream not unlike an old man's.

There was a girl's voice.

_"C'mon, let's go Torsten!"_

Then a voice not unlike his own.

_"I'm coming Jo, jeez, slow down!"_

It was a memory from ten years ago.

_"Slowpoke, slowpoke!" Roux yelled as she ran ahead, looking back to Torsten._

_ "Slow down!" Torsten yelled back exasperated, trying desperately to catch up, "Why are you running anyway?!"_

On a sunny day in Germany, in a grand and beautiful garden not found anywhere but the most luxurious of villas and mansions, Torsten Amsel and Josephine Roux raced from one end to the other.

_"Because it's a race, silly! I told you so!" _

_ "And why is it a race?!" Torsten yelled, falling farther behind._

_ "It's fun, duh!"_

_ "Holy… crap…" Torsten panted._

_ "Jeez, we're almost there Torsten. You really need to exercise more! We only ran from the house to the end of the garden!" _

_ "Yeah, yeah."_

_ Roux reached the end of the massive garden, which was marked by the beginning of a forest. The pair weren't exactly allowed to go into the forest, but they didn't exactly follow the rules when they got together. Somehow they were a bad influence on each other, turning strictly obedient children of Magi families into what could be called rather normal children._

_"Well… You… Win…" Torsten said between heaving breaths when he finally reached the forest line where Roux was already leaning against a tree. She looked distinctly bored. "As usual"._

_ "Finally!" Roux threw her hands up in exaggerated frustration. "You're such a slowpoke!"_

_ "Not everyone can be as fast as you, princess!" Torsten joked, stilling catching his breath. _

_ "I'm sure you could be if you tried harder! C'mon, we'll go to the usual place." Roux headed into the forest, Torsten following behind. _

_ It only took about twenty minutes of negotiating the roots of trees and other plant life of the forest to find their usual spot; a small but beautiful gap in the forest .The gap was punctuated by a taller than usual tree, sitting atop a very small hill that was covered in vibrant green grass and wildflowers. The sun shone into the gap illuminating the area, breathing extra life into the scene and the single tall tree provided comfortable shade in the centre of the little secret world of Torsten and Josephine. As far as they knew, it was only known to them. No one else bothered to traipse into the forest after all. _

_ With a sigh Roux sat down next to the tree gracefully, supporting herself on it making a point to let her dress flow gracefully around her. Torsten took a less refined approached and simply collapsed against the tree, exhausted from the running and trek through the forest._

_ "So, why did you insist on bring me out here, Jo?" Torsten inquired once his breathing had returned to normal speed. "You don't usually want to just rush out here on a whim…"_

_ Roux sat silent for second, eyes closed, relaxed against the tree. She almost seemed as if she was sleeping. Torsten was about to speak, but was interrupted, his mouth halfway through the procedure of saying 'Roux'._

_ "Torsten…" She opened her eyes and looked straight into Torsten's, her voice tinged with sadness. "I... I'm leaving soon."_

_ "Leaving? But we just got to the meadow…" Torsten replied, oblivious._

_ "Not right now! I mean, I'm going to be leaving Germany for a while. Well, I don't know how long exactly. My parents are sending me to America to study more of the Art." She kept her eyes fixed on Torsten as she spoke._

_ "Why do you need to go to America to learn the art? Why can't you just stay here?" Torsten was shocked. This was his only true friend, talking about leaving to go around the other side of the world._

_ "That's what I said to my father… He said it's for the good of the Roux family. I don't want to go Torsten, but I have to…" The sadness in Roux's voice grew with each word._

_ Torsten was speechless. He wasn't exactly good with words at the best of times, and being given this kind of news didn't help._

_ "Listen," Roux began, taking Torsten's hand and her deep blue eyes still fixated on Torsten's own eyes. "I'm not going away forever. I'll come back. I don't know when, but I will." Strength had returned to Roux's words as she squeezed Torsten's hand._

_ "You promise?" Torsten had to ask. He actually knew the answer. When Roux was certain of something, he could be too._

_ "Of course!"_

_ They both smiled and relaxed against the tree, and started talking. The topic of their conversation changed on a whim and at lightning speed, but Roux's departure was not mentioned again. It seemed like they talked for hours and, while Torsten was explaining his practice with Projection earlier that day, he turned to find Roux sleeping. He couldn't help but smile. She was still clutching his hand._

* * *

><p>Blood was splattered over one side of the woman's face. Her clothes were saturated with the man's blood. Again, another victim lured in by the chance of sex with some random woman. She honestly didn't enjoy killing at night, however. It made seeing the bodies difficult. What was the point in killing when you couldn't see the bodies ripen, especially since she hadn't been feeling the buzz from her killings lately, she figured. The thought to stop the heinous killings had crossed her fractured mind. However, it didn't stay for long. The cravings always won out in the end. Her killings had gone beyond their original purpose of giving her what she felt she was missing and were now her all, her only.<p>

"You done, Master?" called a voice from just out of the alleyway in which the murderer and victim remained. "I think someone's coming. Someone actually, you know, worth killing?" Frustration was clearly audible in the tinny voice of the Servant who poked his head around corner into the alleyway.

"Yes, I'm finished," Adelheid said, disappointed. The alleyway was just too dim during the night to truly enjoy her handiwork. Sure, she could kill someone in the middle of a deserted street, but she felt more at home in an alleyway. The tight walls gave a paradoxical claustrophobic comfort to the murderess. At least someone was coming. That could provide some fun. Adelheid left the shredded body to join her Servant.

"Took your time there," the Servant remarked dryly. "But it's we've bigger fish to fry now. A Master and Servant are coming." The servant pointed down the empty street, dimly lit by street lamps. "Coming from that way."

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. These eyes are those of an Eagle's." He pointed to his eyes that seemed to function rather well despite the large cylindrical helmet perched over head. "I could feel them from a good while away, getting closer, so I checked from the roof."

"Alright Archer, we should greet them. I could use some actual action after all. Killing these people hasn't done much satiate me. It only makes it worse." Archer didn't exactly know what his Master meant by 'satiating' herself or what 'it' was, but he knew that he should just keep her in a fighting mood. They were going to need it, going up against an actual Master and their Servant. Archer and Adelheid decided to wait in the middle of the street, forgoing an ambush. It was neither of their specialities.

Within a minute, the Master and Servant appeared around a corner from the direction Archer pointed, and proceeded to come towards Adelheid and Archer. The pairs eyed each other as the newcomers walked closer together. A golden looking Servant and his Master stopped ten metres away from Archer and Adelheid.

"Isn't this quaint," the Golden Servant spoke first. "A tin man and a tramp!" The Master of the Golden Servant didn't seem to mind the outburst of his Servant. In fact, the Golden Servant almost had a more authoritative air about him than his Master.

"Coming from you, Mr Fruity-dress, that's not saying much now is it?" Archer responded. The Golden Servant's face immediately contorted in the face of this retort. However, Adelheid was equally as uncaring about her own Servant's talking.

"My name is Breno da Rocha, Master of Rider. I am here to kill you." The Master known as Da Rocha spoke confidently and with little noticeable emotion. He either didn't notice the blood smeared across the Master he faced or he simply did not care.

"Adelheid Rotmensen," the Master of Archer said, perverse excitement noticeable in her voice as she licked her lips. "Can we start now?"

"As you wish," Da Rocha said. Upon the ending of those three words, Rider burst forward drawing his Khopesh blade. He charged straight for Archer, ignoring the Master for now. Rider sought to remove the tin man first.

Rider flew across the ten metres that separated the pairs in barely a second, his sword drawn and aimed directly for Archer's armour encased head. Aiming at the neck wouldn't work given the downright odd type of armour on this Servant.

_CLANG_.

The Golden Servant's sword connected with Archer's head, Rider smiling in smug satisfaction. The speed at which Rider closed the gap caused a massive gust of air to blast forward from the Golden Servant, the Iron Clad Servant's large trench coat billowing up and open in the sudden maelstrom.

Piercing, rage filled eyes gazed from the slit on Archer's helmet, burning holes through Rider. The sword had done nothing to the armour. Not even a scratch. Even Rider thought this was bad. He was stuck ten metres away from his Master next to an iron behemoth and a crazed woman covered in blood.

A flash. _BANG._

The shot rang out in the empty street. Rider had barely dodged the point blank shot at his head. A flash of the revolver being raised by Archer was all Rider needed to move out the way, but this was too close. Without skipping a beat, Rider jumped back a metre to reassess his options.

As Rider moved, Archer pulled a second pistol from his coat in the blink of an eye and fired, forcing another retreating jump backwards from the Golden Servant. The bullet hit the ground where Rider had only just stood.

"Damn you, foolish peon! You know not your place!" Rider screamed. Adelheid took the opportunity of the confused Rider to charge forward, past the Golden Servant, and straight at Da Rocha. Her speed was unnatural, and her gait almost animal like in its pure drive forward. She pulled a combat knife from her jeans waistband as Da Rocha entered an almost casual fighting stance, a single fist in front and another fist held back in eternal preparation for a wound up punch.

The two clashed. Fire and blood flew everywhere.

Archer kept firing at the Golden Servant as he grew more and more frustrated. _That scum! I just can't get close to this stupid tin-man. I guess he needs a lesson from his Pharaoh!_

Rider stopped suddenly, even after a bullet was fired in his direction. He barely moved his head and it flew past him. Archer paused at Rider's random halting of movement.

"Hear me my people! Bring me my horses and Chariot, so that I may turn this foul man into a blood stain on the sands of Khadesh!" roared Rider as he threw his Khopesh into the ground, where it pierced the street. However, instead of breaking apart the asphalt of the road, it seemed to sink through the ground as if being absorbed into it. It quickly sunk straight into the ground entirely.

A bright flash immediately poured from where the Khopesh disappeared, and Rider took two steps backwards and held his arms up, defenceless. From the flash, a pure golden form started to take shape, rising from the ground. Horses' hooves could be seen, and large wheels attached to a Chariot with room enough could be observed. Rider was behind the golden form, and the moment it completed he stepped into the Chariot, the bright golden aura burst away revealing a literal Golden Chariot, pull by two brown horses adorned in regal battle mail.

"The Chariot of Kadesh," hissed Rider as a golden bow formed in his left hand.

"Fuck me dead…" was all Archer had to say.

Adelheid kept dealing blows to Da Rocha as all this transpired behind her. She struck wildly, and on pure instinct. She cared not for the battle between Servants. It wasn't that she knew Archer would win, however. She simply cared more for the death of the man in front of her, who was parrying her blows.

In their first clash, a flame had erupted from Da Rocha's right fist as he tried to plough it into Adelheid's face, but Adelheid wrapped her knife arm around Da Rocha's outstretched arm and ripped backwards fast enough to avoid the crimson flames and to tear a long, spiralling cut down da Rocha's right arm. Ever since, he played defensively, parrying blows to try and find a rhyme or reason behind her mad attacks. Not only because he was hit, but because within the light of the flames he conjured; he saw the madness within his opponent's eyes.

"Rider!" yelled Da Rocha, on the defensive from Adelheid's insane knife strikes, "Are you sure?" Rider had told Da Rocha that the Noble Phantasm was a power not to be used lightly.

"Don't question me!"

"Alright!" Da Rocha yelled, barely avoiding a knife that drove right at his face. "He's Ned Kelly! Watch out for the armour, attack at full power! That armour take almost anything!"

Archer's identity had been revealed. He was in reality, the Australian highwayman and criminal, Edward "Ned" Kelly. The armour that he wore was so famous, that it was a dead giveaway to Breno da Rocha. Now that Rider knew his opponent's identity thanks to his Master, he had a supreme advantage. He knew the extent of Archer's power now. He had faith his Servant could succeed.

_'Almost anything'? Hah. We'll see how that armour of his fairs against my Noble Phantasm._ Thought Rider.

"Fuck," cursed Archer, his identity compromised. He just hoped that if he survived, only this golden fool and his lackey of a Master were the only ones to know.

"I don't need you to tell me that!" Rider screamed back at his Master in anger, clicking the fingers of his free right hand. The Chariot took off, directly at Archer. Rider promptly pulled the string of his bow back, a golden arrow of energy formed in it, and he aimed at Archer.

He fired, the golden arrow flying straight at Archer's head. Archer ducked to avoid the arrow, with the Chariot still racing towards him. The Chariot moved slightly at the last second, to the side of Archer, passing him. It did this all with no one at the reigns, as Rider was wielding his bow.

Archer took this opportunity of close proximity to grab onto the side of one of the horses, immediately lifting off his feet from the Chariot's insane speed, and he swung himself onto the back of the horse he grabbed.

"Hell yeah!" exclaimed Archer, turning around on the horse to face Rider.

"How dare you touch my horse, scum!" screeched the Golden Servant, quickly firing an arrow in rage, missing by a large margin. He fired a second time, but rage still obscured and distilled his usual pinpoint accuracy.

"Hey! I'm a highwayman! It's what I do!" yelled Archer at Rider, raising one of his pistols as the Chariot sped down the street.

* * *

><p>Without having to concentrate on the fight between Servants, Da Rocha could concentrate on his own fight. He could start utilising his mastery of fire.<p>

Normally, fire is a very fickle thing to control, even with the Art. It can usually only be started and not controlled without great effort. The Da Rocha family, however, had developed a martial art that utilised magical barriers or Boundaries on the limbs to push and manipulate manifested fire. It could be used to wreath limbs in fire, or even fling flames with great precision. And it did all this while preventing the searing flames from ever touching the user.

He was having trouble, however, even launching an effective counterattack against Adelheid's wild and instinctual fighting. She was primal and bloodthirsty. Throughout the entire fight she had an insane smile on her face, baring fang like canines.

_This is an opponent that I cannot take lightly,_ Thought Da Rocha as he batted away a lunging stab form Adelheid, creating an opening. As the knife went wide, he launched another flaming punch with his bloody right arm. It would have been a sure hit, if Adelheid hadn't bent backwards swiftly in an inhuman fashion, back flipping under the punch and propelling her feet into Da Rocha's chin.

The kick caused his jaw to clench, almost breaking his teeth, and his view went immediately shaky. However, the follow through on the back flip made Adelheid increase the distance between the pair. Da Rocha took the opportunity to reaffirm his stance and shake away the disorientation from the kick, while Adelheid flipped her grip on her knife to hold it in a reversed position.

"That's one hell of a style you have there," Adelheid suddenly remarked, cracking her neck and limbering up her arms. "Flames and boxing? Bruuuuutal." She moaned long and hard as she spoke.

"Where did you pick up what you know?" Da Rocha replied, ignoring her compliment. "No person could fight that well without magecraft assistance or at least professional training." At this, Adelheid laughed. It was a broken and disturbed laugh that echoed around the street, seemingly everlasting.

"Oh really? No one? I think you just met one!" she yelled, excitedly, as she got into a low stance, breathing heavy like an animal faced with prey she intended to devour whole.

"You are a monster," Da Rocha bluntly declared. He lunged forward, fist becoming wreathed in flames.

Adelheid prepared to deflect the blow and slash at Da Rocha's gut, but the flame wielding Master stopped short of hitting Adelheid directly. This caused her to hesitate and that was all Da Rocha needed. The momentum behind the punch, and an extra kick behind the barrier between his fist and the fire, forced the flames that coated his arm to fly forwards at incredible speed. They screamed forwards and blasted into Adelheid's face, hitting it like a slick of napalm. She let out a bloodcurdling shriek at the pain from her flesh being seared.

As Da Rocha was about to follow through with another punch that would actually connect, Adelheid's screaming cut out suddenly.

"Only joking."

She charged at Da Rocha, her hair on fire, her flesh burning and still smiling like a madman, Adelheid ducked low to strike at his gut. Da Rocha's face took on a look of horror and contempt.

_This beast does not deserve life._

Da Rocha launched his fist upwards as Adelheid's face went lower, the two connecting, the flame wielder delivering a powerful upper cut.

Adelheid's body flew upwards like her head was being pulled from above, a sick smile still plastered on her face, as she deliberately let her knife arm fly out wildly and strike a vertical blow on Da Rocha's face.

Da Rocha leapt back as blood poured out of the cut that sliced one of his cheeks, just missing an eye.

_I must destroy this beast!_

* * *

><p>Another golden arrow missed Archer, this time by mere centimetres, as he fired rounds at Rider in his Chariot. They raced down the street at an insane speed, as Archer tried to both loosen one of the horses from the Chariot and keep Rider from firing too many arrows.<p>

"Get of my horse you heathen!" Rider shouted as he readied his bow for another shot. Archer had to work fast. He was trying to do it the neat way and just untie the horse, but that wasn't working very well.

"Aw, fuck it…" he said, shooting the reigns holding the horse onto the Chariot, taking command of the horse. It seemed that it was simple familiar tied to the Noble Phantasm that was the Chariot of Kadesh, so it was easy for Archer to simply ride the horse.

"No you don't!" Rider yelled while firing the readied shot, only for Archer to pull back on the reigns of the horse, making it slow down to a halt as the Chariot passed.

"Scum!" Rider yelled, face contorted in rage, his Chariot turning around in the street and heading back to Archer. This time, even with just a single horse, the Chariot was moving faster than ever. As the Chariot sped up, Rider's face relaxed and took on a stern air.

_Shit, he's really concentrating on killing me now…_ Archer realised, and took off in the same direction as the Chariot.

Rider started firing, this time far more accurate, golden energy bolts flying at Archer from behind nicked bits and pieces of his armour and trench coat. They were headed back to the Master's battle and Archer wanted it over by then.

_Got to take a risk every once and a while huh? _He mused to himself as he moved to the side of the Chariot and pulled hard on the reigns of the horse and swung the leg farthest from the Chariot up onto the back of his ride, Rider swiftly approaching.

He turned in the direction of the Chariot, both pistols out, and it passed with Rider ready to fire his golden bow.

Archer suddenly leapt off the horse, using his leg as a spring, and flew towards the carriage of the Chariot, pistols firing as he made an arc through the air.

Rider was caught completely off guard by the reckless tactic used by the outlaw and neglected to fire for just enough time to let Archer land on the side of the Chariot, gain a foothold and cling onto the carriage with his elbows. Rider quickly composed himself.

Both Servants glared at each other, both with loaded weapons pointed at their foe. Rider fired first, Archer trying as hard as possible to move to the side. He moved enough for the arrow to brush his helmet, slicing a chunk of it, and slicing into his cheek.

Archer fired both guns, forcing Rider to dodge in such a confined space. However, the shots went high and all Rider had to do was duck. As he did so he drew back on his bow, but that was enough time for Archer to swing up into the Chariot.

Rider fired again, missing as Archer batted his bow to the side and let loose a volley from both guns. Two bullets entered Rider in the arm that held his bow, and one into his stomach.

"Bastard!" he screamed, his screech bordering on inhuman, battering Archer hard in the leg with his bow, the only unarmoured part of his body. It forced him to one knee, giving Rider enough time to draw. By the time Archer stood, he realised they were just pulling up to the Masters again, and that he didn't have time to retaliate.

"Get. Off. My. Chariot!" Rider bellowed, losing his arrow straight into Archer's wide open chest.

* * *

><p>Adelheid fought madly, enjoying every second, savouring the blood and carnage. It was rare that anyone fought back, never mind fighting back with such strength. Her seared and burnt face was no matter, and her hair would grow back after a time. However, the war she was waging with Breno Da Rocha was much more important.<p>

_Maybe this will fill the void!_ She hoped, using all the strength she had in her possession to prevent herself from succumbing to the ecstasy writhing within her.

Da Rocha caught a swipe of Adelheid's knife, halting her arm in mid swing. He promptly wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled sharply, creating flame in his other, open, hand. He swung the open hand as he pulled Adelheid closer, planning to ram her head with enough force to break her neck.

She just smiled wider and flung her head back as he pulled, deducing his weak plan, and preparing to launch a punch with her free hand to his gut as his open hand sailed over her twisted face.

But as she flung head back, she noticed the Chariot of the Golden Servant returning, Archer on board and missing a horse. Da Rocha noticed too and both paused for a split second as it came close and closer, only for Archer to be blown off, a golden lance of light almost carrying him off the Chariot as it raced by the Masters.

Archer crashed to the ground near the Masters with a metallic clang that was muffled by his coat. He was still alive, but in bad shape and in a horribly disadvantageous position. And Adelheid saw it.

Adelheid broke free of Da Rocha's grip and created distance between them. The Chariot overshot the Masters and quickly come back around to finish the job.

"I don't want to do this…" Adelheid said, sidling towards Archer as he got up painfully from the ground, holding the wound that went clear though his armour and him. "But I don't want to lose just yet. My Servant has failed me." She was cold; ice cold. Her excitement and lust for blood was spoiled entirely.

Da Rocha stood ready as the Chariot raced up behind him.

Adelheid, now next to Archer, wrenched him from the ground and proceeded to throw him in the direction of the alleyway where she had murdered her last victim.

"I look forward to finishing this," she said, lacking any form of emotion in her voice. In a way, that was more terrifying to Da Rocha than her disturbing glee surrounding her own carnage. She ran into the alleyway behind Archer, melding into the darkness like she belonged there.

The Chariot stopped next to Da Rocha and Rider dismounted, furious.

"Is that whore dead?" he asked, angry and hoping to end the life of Archer with his own hands.

"No, she and her Servant ran. There is no point chasing them. Your Chariot can't fit in such a narrow space. And even if he is injured, he would have us caught in bottleneck."

"Don't lecture me! I know the tactics of war." Rider hissed angrily. "Now come, we should get rest if we are to face Roux at some point right?" In truth, Rider cared not for his Master's vendetta. But now he had one of his own, he understood why his Master could be controlled so easily by it.

_I will kill that heathen if it's the last thing I do. He dared shoot me? Me?!_ Rider thought, his wounds already in the process of healing, minor as they were.

"You're right Rider," Da Rocha agreed, checking his sliced arm. The cut was surprisingly shallow despite profuse bleeding. It would be an easy job to wrap it up. "Lead the way then."

Rider's Chariot disappeared, including the horse farther up the street that had been let loose by Archer. In a flash of gold, it was gone and Rider and Breno da Rocha proceeded to leave the scene of the battle.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I had lots of fun writing this chapter in particular. I hope you had some fun reading it! ^^

As usual, critiquing is most certainly welcome and I hope you are enjoying the story so far!


	5. Père Chevalier

Chapter 5  
>Père Chevalier<p>

It was roughly 8am when the sun decided to grace the beautiful city of Lyon with it presence. It was at that time a woman sat at a small table on her balcony, sipping her morning tea. The woman was petite, and had a sense of grace and dignity even when simply sitting, marvelling at the dawn of a new day. The morning breeze coursed through her rich brown hair and carried a chill, but it was no matter to the woman. To her, the beauty of a sunrise was something to cherish even in the harshest of conditions, or most complex of personal circumstances.

"What a beautiful sunrise isn't it, Frau Meister?" A voice called from inside the apartment of the woman, with a thick German accent. Following that utterance, a man dressed in fine medieval clothing emerged from the apartment onto the balcony to lean on the balustrade. He had a thin face, almost gaunt, with a mop of black hair and deep set eyes. If it wasn't for his liveliness and the natural fire in within his eyes, he would have appeared sickly.

"Indeed it is, Caster." The woman placed her teacup on its saucer. "And I have told you, you may address me by my name if you wish. We are in this battle together. As much as my saying your name would be foolish by tactical standards, you may at least use mine."

The Servant known as Caster smiled. "Ah, but Frau Cecile Prideaux, your name is too pure to pass lips such as mine without due reprimand. You, privy to what I have done to receive my place in this Holy Grail War, should know that." There was no hint of sadness in Caster's own disparaging remark about himself. He had come to terms with his inner demons, both figuratively and literally.

Cecile Prideaux let out a small sigh, deciding not to enter another discussion of guilt and the past. Instead, she was concerned with the present. "So, has it returned yet?" she asked, closing her eyes and sipping her tea.

"No, Frau Meister, it has not. It must still be searching as it has not been destroyed yet. At least it did not meet up with that band of tedious Suits once again." Caster sat at the table with his Master.

"Indeed. They weren't very powerful, but they did indeed prove to be an obstruction. At least they weren't accompanied by that insufferable man. What a crass person he was." Cecile finished her tea and looked out at the further rising sun.

Caster emulated his Master, gazing out to the sprawling cityscape. "At least he is no perceivable threat. Even his minions proved useless against our combined might. You may just be able to achieve your goal in this War if all our opponents prove to be so pitiful." Caster chuckled at the thought of their encounter with the man in the suit. He was a buffoon to the pair, and not worth their time or effort.

"I may just. With you at my side, Caster, we can put an end to this hateful War. All this death and destruction can be stopped," Cecile said, her voice rising in excitement and anticipation. "However, are you sure you can work with me towards my goal? No more Grail Wars mean you are denied a chance to fight ever again."

Caster looked his Master directly in the eye, his gaze determined. "Whatever your wish is, Frau Meister, it is mine. I am your implement of destruction with which to wield however you wish. My life is yours."

Cecile nodded quietly and once again closed her eyes. She did not like to think of Caster as a tool. Especially one designed for the purpose of destruction. She may have been ready to kill, even to end this Holy Grail War, but Caster's place was not as her weapon. He was her partner. Together, they would end this war.

* * *

><p>Torsten awoke to sun streaming into his bedroom, the dream of the night before still in his head. <em>I have to find out what's going on with Roux.<em> The thought was immediate and gave him purpose for the day. _But how?_ He lay in bed and contemplated what action to take. No doubt Saber was observing him in a spiritual form, but he had to take the advice he received last night. He couldn't simply act like he knows nothing and can do nothing. To get through this War, for all intents and purposes, he had to act like a competent and confident Magus. So, Torsten decided to work out this dilemma himself.

_But… Who would actually know anything about Roux?_ Torsten posed a question to himself. _She's been out of the country for ten years…_ Torsten was on the brink of asking Saber for advice, when it came to him. _Of course! Father Chevalier! The Observer of the War! I bet she must have talked to him at some point. If not, he should at least have an idea of what's going on._

Torsten proceeded to jump out of bed and run to the shower, showing true confidence on his face for the first time since the beginning of the War. If Saber was visible, Torsten would have seen the smile across his face. Torsten was done with his morning ablutions quickly, and ran down stairs calling for Saber.

"Right here," Saber said from the couch in the living room, polishing his blade. He had materialised right after Torsten entered the shower, ready for his Master and his new found energy. "What's on the agenda for today, lad?"

"We're going to see the Observer of the War. I want to find out about Roux and he will know at least a little something about each of the Masters. Shall we?" He made right for the front door, skipping breakfast.

"Cannae argue with that! Lead the way, lad." Saber said as he spiritualised.

The Church where the Observer resided was a long distance from Torsten's house, but as it was a nice day he decided to take the trip on foot. No doubt Saber would want some time to talk to his Master anyway, so this would give him the chance.

"So, that Roux girl is important tae ye then?" Saber asked out of the blue as Torsten was in the middle of crossing a street. He froze at the sudden question, almost getting run over by a car as a result. After quickly dashing across the road while Saber's laughter roared in his ear, he answered.

"S-somewhat, yes. We were childhood friends." Torsten said, heart still racing in his chest after almost becoming road kill.

"'Were'? What happened?"

"That's what I'm going to find out. Anyway, what made you inclined to ask?" Torsten was worried about his transparency.

"Nothing really. I figured if I asked you'd tell me," Saber chuckled.

Embarrassed, Torsten stayed silent for the rest of the journey to the Church. Saber seemed content with his single jarring question and said no more.

It took at least two hours to reach the church, on the outskirts of Lyon. It was a quaint looking building that retained the beautiful architecture of most Churches and Cathedrals in France while miniaturising it into a rather compact form. As with most Churches, it was adorned with stained glass windows, a large set of imposing wooden doors and a general medieval façade.

"Should I wait out here? In case anyone comes our way?" Saber asked as Torsten approached the doors.

"No," replied Torsten immediately. "I want you to meet this man. Plus, I don't think anyone would attack the Church anyway. It's supposed to be a neutral area during the War after all." He proceeded to open the doors, a hand on each one, pushing over the threshold.

"Alright then lad," Saber said as he materialised, the doors shutting closed as he appeared fully. As the doors slammed shut, a tall man in a traditional priest's cassock turned around at the far end of the Church, near the Altar.

"Ah, Torsten Amsel! I haven't seen you since you arrived! How are you, my boy?" the tall man exclaimed, his face beaming. He came to meet Torsten at the middle pews. "So you have entered the Holy Grail War after all. And this must be your Servant. Saber if I'm not mistaken?" The tall priest extended a hand towards Saber. The Scottish warrior took it gladly with a small nod of his head in acknowledgement.

"Nice to see you again, Father." Torsten greeted the priest, relaxed for once. It was a blessing to greet someone as opposed to run for your life as he had been doing recently.

"Now Torsten, I've told you before that you can call me Guillaume!" Chevalier said with a laugh. "So, what can I do for you today?"

"Well…" Torsten hesitated, only to receive an elbow from Saber that was much stronger than your typical 'go ahead' elbow. "I've come to ask about another Master in the Grail War." Guillaume Chevalier's face immediately grew stony and he lost his beaming smile.

"Now Torsten, you know the Observer cannot divulge information on Masters to other Masters," the Father said, his voice becoming not unlike that of a father's reprimanding their child. "I'm disappointed that you would even consider asking something like that. You're not even a Magus in control of this area."

"It's not like that really; I need to know about the past of a certain Master. That's all, nothing to do with their skills or anything!" Torsten blurted out in his defence. Chevalier looked incredulous.

"Well," the Priest began. "Who is this Master that you need to know about? And why would you need to know about their past?"

"It's complicated, but I want to know if you have any knowledge of a Master in the War named Josephine Roux," replied Torsten, raising an eyebrow. With this, Father Chevalier closed his eyes and small smile of understanding spread across his lips once more. Having known the pair of Magi since they were babies, he cursed himself for not considering this before the War began.

"Ah, but of course," Chevalier mused. "I should have known. I suppose I can divulge what I know of her and only her. Although, I doubt it is much more than you do."

"Anything would be a help right now," gushed Torsten, tension disappearing from his body. He had been so stiff from stress at that point that if you had nudged him, he would have fallen over like a plank of wood.

"Josephine Roux is, as you know, a member of the Roux line of Magi. She has been in the United States under rigorous training in the Art for years. She only arrived back in Europe just recently, to the best of my knowledge," Guillaume Chevalier summed up. Torsten resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the priest's utterance of the obvious. "I would love to tell you more but this is all I can divulge."

"Is… Is that really all you can tell me?" Torsten mumbled, dejected. "I know all this. You know that!" He hung his head.

Chevalier placed a hand on Torsten's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Torsten. What I know about her, you do. If anything, we know far more about her than anyone else in this War. She's one of the biggest mysteries from the perspective of the other Masters." He paused, as if not sure whether to continue with what he was about to say. "Rather like you."

"Huh?" was all Torsten had to say.

"I never expected you to have the ability to enter this War, never mind actually consciously want to enter it. It sounds cruel but you never did have the same flair with the Art as other Amsels did," Chevalier said, a strange level of excitement building in his voice.

"I kno-," Torsten began before being cut off.

"However," the Priest uttered loudly. "You've proven that my expectations were wrong, haven't you? And you've proven that your father was right to stand by you, haven't you?" Father Chevalier's face was glowing as he complimented the young Master before him.

"I… Uh… Wow," was all Torsten could muster before Saber had to elbow him again. "Thank you."

"I only speak the truth Torsten!" Chevalier exclaimed, "I only sp-" The Father was suddenly interrupted mid-sentence.

_BOOM_.

The heavy wooden doors of the Church slammed open only to reveal a cadre of large men in black suits striding over the Church threshold. The trio turned to face the doors.

"Damn, I knew I shouldae stayed outside and kept watch!" Saber yelled, his large sword materialising in one giant hand as he pushed Torsten safely behind him with the other.

"It's those guys that were protecting that man," Torsten realised, projecting a knife in his right hand, preparing for the worst. The men clad in suits, numbering at least ten, kept a slow but steady pace forward into the Church. The men in the front began brandishing weapons from inside their suit coats. Some had knuckle dusters, while others carried stun-guns and a few even had hollow aluminium telescopic batons.

"What the hell is this?" questioned Saber. "These men can't be associated with the Grail War, can they?"

"This is ridiculous!" Father Chevalier exclaimed in anger. "Just who are you people and why are you invading the neutral space that is this Church? I am the Observer of this War and I demand an answer!" No answer came from the men in suits. Their faces were blank, and any emotion that could be found in their eyes was covered by pitch black sunglasses.

"Somehow, I don't think you're going to get anything out of them," said Torsten, taking a knife fighting stance he saw once in a movie. He felt stupid for doing so, but it was all he could think to do.

"It seems you may be right, young Torsten," the Priest agreed as he formed two blades in his hands, "My Black Keys will have to do the talking." The suit clad men were only 3 pews away from the trio by now.

One of the Suits, armed with only knuckle dusters, flew forward with a burst of speed and with his fist outstretched in a straight, headed at Saber's face. Saber blocked the punch, the knuckle duster connecting with Saber's massive blade. His eyes widened as he realised the seriousness of his opponents; the knuckle duster held firm against the blade. These were not enemies to underestimate.

As Saber came to this realisation, a figure in black burst past him from behind, a blade gleaming in both hands. With a sickening crack, the head of the Suit that was locked with Saber was torn off as one of Father Chevalier's blades cleaved it from the Suit's shoulders. The now limp and lifeless body of the suit fell back with the force of the swipe, no blood pouring from its neck, dissolving into silver particles that evaporated shortly after being formed from the corpse of the Suit.

"I suppose they are not to be underestimated then," stated Guillaume Chevalier, his voice lacking emotion as if his entire personality had changed. "Come! We must rid this Church of these heathens."

Despite the initial shock at Father Chevalier's complete personality change, Torsten was still thinking. "It just dissolved! They must be some sort of familiar." he surmised.

"Then they shouldn't be that much of a struggle then," began Saber before another Suit launched himself forward, only to get skewered on the Scottish warrior's blade. "Should they?" Saber finished, readying himself for the onslaught.

This time the Suits seemed to realise that attacking one by one wouldn't work, and the front row of about four charged forward, armed and dangerous. Saber blocked one that was using a stun-gun, the electrodes straddling his blade, giving a mild shock that would undoubtedly incapacitate a lesser being. Father Chevalier immediately dissected one that lunged at him, and a second armed with a baton was expertly blocked with his free hand. The fourth, however, took advantage of the occupied Servant and Priest to charge straight at Torsten behind them.

"Torsten!" shouted Saber, pushing back the stun-gun wielding Suit only to have yet another Suit charge from the pack at him. Torsten readied his knife to receive a blow from the Suit hurtling towards him, a telescopic baton raised to strike. The young Master was not a fighter by nature, so he didn't realise dodging may have been more prudent.

_This is going to hurt._

_CLANG._ The baton swung down upon the young man and halted its movement as it connected with Torsten's knife above his head, perpendicular to each other. He was shaking and struggling to hold the weight of the blow while the Suit continued to apply downwards pressure. The Suit began to outstretch his free hand to grasp at the young Master. Torsten's only option was to get away and gather himself. He rolled backwards, keeping the knife held against the baton for as long as possible, and escaped the clutches of the Suit and avoiding the baton that hit the stone floor with a resounding clang as the pressure behind it released.

Saber was prepared to turn his back on the horde of Suits now advancing on him when the Father spoke to him.

"Leave Torsten! He must fight his own battle now," Chevalier yelled without the same warmth he had only moments before. "The further we pull back to help him, the more of these goons that can reach Torsten. We have to have faith he can fight his own battle. For his sake." As he finished, he unleashed a flurry of slices upon the initial Suit of the four and another Suit unfortunate enough to target the Priest. Both were cut to ribbons where they stood.

"I know that!" Saber said through gritted teeth, the worry about his inexperienced Master visible on his face, swinging his sword horizontally to bifurcate two Suits. "I know," he repeated, quieter, as if only to reassure himself.

"Well, come on," blankly stated the Priest as he lunged into the group of Suits that had grown since entering the Church. More were pouring in from the door! Minus the already dead, there were at least twelve Suits total. "Any more of these guys and we might have a problem," the Priest said to himself, thrusting a sword directly through the head of a Suit, dropping the total to eleven.

Torsten heard the conversation about him and knew they were right. He had to fight and win. If he couldn't survive against one of these Suits, a Servant or another Master would destroy him utterly. He reassumed a firm stance with his knife, ready to fight. The Suit with the baton raised it from the ground, revealing a clear divot in the stone floor where it had landed. With its free hand it grasped its neck and rotated its head around, a sickening crackle coming from its neck.

"Calm yourself and concentrate," Torsten said to himself, deciding to end this as quick as he could.

"Es ist mein," Torsten began to chant, flexing his free hand.

The spell may not work, but he'd better try it. He won't last long otherwise. The Suit was smart enough to realise Torsten was beginning a chant for a spell and immediately lunged forward, baton raised. Torsten moved to the side as the baton fell, trying to keep concentration on his spell as high as possible.

"Raum ist mein," continued the young Magus, his magic circuits reacting to the chant now. He jumped backwards from the Suit as it let fly a horizontal swipe. He was close to the alter at the front of the Church; too far from Saber and Father Chevalier to have them swoop in and save him now. Unless he wasted a Command Spell, he was on his own.

"Es wird schließen,"Torsten said, getting louder with each line. The Suit charged at him again, this time thrusting at an incredible speed. Torsten moved to the side, just as the baton passed him and crashed into the alter behind him, blasting it aprt through sheer force, splinters of wood flying everywhere. Torsten let fly with a swipe of his knife, nicking the arm of the Suit. This seemed to only enrage the Suit as it swung the baton round high, aiming for Torsten's head. He insticntively ducked and rolled backwards.

Meanwhile, the cadre of Suits that were facing Saber and the Priest were already down to a mere four in number. Between the swift dual blades of the seemingly dual personality Priest and the massive blade of Saber, they were no competition. The remaining four weren't affected by the felling of their comrades and charged as one at the pair. Saber immediately impaled one, and swung it into another unning beside it. The other two went straight for the Priest, one being decapitated and the other dodging the free blade to land a knuckle duster laden punch to the left side of the Priest. Father Chevalier froze, his blades in midswing, and his head turned slowly towards the Suit that landed the punch. The Priest's normally gleaming eyes were empty. It was then that his Black Keys disappeared and he swung his right fist around, connecting with the Suit's head, cracking it open like an egg. It quickly dissolved into nothingness. After a shake of his fist the Priest closed his eyes for a second and opened, his face taking on it's usual calmness and warmth.

_That man is something else_, Saber thought as he observed the Priest, plunging his blade into the Suit he knocked down to ensure it's death.

"Dieser raum schließen," Torsten said, finishing the chant and wriggling his fingers as he dodged another attempted blow by the Suit. It was showing uncharacteristic frustration with its swift little foe. The young Master had managed to dodge everything it threw at him. That was about to change. The Suit dropped its baton abruptly, which disturbed Torsten enough to make him hesitate. The Suit used the moment of inactivity to lunge forward and grab his prey with a single hand. The Suit's massive hand wrapped around Torsten's neck, threatening to snap it like a twig when Torsten uttered the words he had been preparing to use this entire fight.

"Räumlich Einsturz!" Torsten yelled at the top of his lungs, bring up his free hand to the Suit's head. He clenched his hand into a fist, and the Suit's face contorted immediately in pain. It was as if it got a sudden and immense headache. The Suit then dropped the young Master, with Torsten falling in heap but keeping his fist clenched and aimed at the Suit's head. The spell had actually failed, and only caused a minor compression of space, but it was obviously affecting the Suit.

The Suit gripped its head with both hands and wrenched back, opening its mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out. Torsten took his chance while the Suit was crippled in pain to drive his knife up through the Suit's jaw into its skull. The lack of spraying blood didn't dull the experience much for Torsten, as he winced and shut his eyes while he drove the knife into the Suit. The Suit froze, and proceeded to disappear into silver particles like the others. Torsten collapsed to his knees as his projected knife faded away. It was over; he survived.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another rather fun chapter. I hope you enjoyed, and the reviews are appreciated and taken on board for sure. ^^

More to come, of course! ^^


	6. Floraison Folie

Chapter 6  
>Floraison Folie<p>

"When I said this War had mysteries, I meant it," Father Chevalier said, taking a sip of a glass of red wine. He had opened the bottle after he, Saber and Torsten adjourned to his private room in the Church after dispatching the group of Suits. "Imagine attacking the location of the War's Observer. I mean, really."

The private room of the Church was simple but elegant. Within it was a chair and a couch surrounding a deep chocolate coloured wooden table. Both the couch and the chair were of blood red leather, with Torsten and Saber sitting in the couch while the Priest occupied the chair. Additionally, there was a beautifully decorated cabinet on one wall, housing the Priest's personal stock of alcohol. It had recently been disturbed to reach the red wine Father Chevalier was now sipping.

"How were there so many? They were clearly familiars or something, and it doesn't seem like we killed the leader," Torsten said, voice still shaking from the adrenaline rush of the fight that took place only ten minutes ago. While he hadn't truly lost composure during the fight, he was still disturbed by what he had done; whether a familiar or human, he had killed something.

"That I do not know, Torsten," the Priest said simply. He took another sip from his wine.

"They were obviously some kind of manifestation from a Servant's power or ability," Saber put forth. "No normal familiars can act so intelligently in combat from what I've seen, yet that lot did."

"That seems the case," the Priest agreed. "I have never heard of such an odd Servant power. And, one can assume, that due to the modern appearance of the familiars that this is a truly odd Servant period. The War is indeed an enigma."

"Do you think you could explain what's so strange?" asked Torsten. "I mean, I'm not exactly sure what's going on. I kind of jumped into the deep end without looking when I entered this War." Torsten's voice had still not lost its shake, but he wasn't intending to breakdown now. He could collapse in a heap at home later. For now, he needed information on the War.

"I suppose I can explain the origin of this particular War. It is very much the crux of the strange elements of this conflict," Father Chevalier said, placing his near empty glass on the table and leaning forward, clasping his hands together. "This War shouldn't have technically occurred."

After a single moment of silence, all Torsten could muster was a single word.

"What?" he exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Put simply, the current Grail War should not be happening," the Priest continued. "And it was only by happenstance that it was allowed to go ahead. Essentially, the original Grail Wars occurred due to the cooperation of a select group of Magi families. Each family brought an element of the War to the table. The Tohsaka family allowed the War to occur within their controlled area of Fuyuki and called the Servants into the world, while the Makiri created the Command Spells for example. However, the family ingrained the deepest into the War is the Einzbern family."

Torsten had heard of all these families. While he did know most of this, it was probably best just to let the Priest continue. He seemed to be reaching the point.

"The Einzbern family prepared the vessel of the Grail. This is for the activation of Heaven's Feel, or the magic of the soul, that would allow for the great power of the Grail. Now, the vessel was usually a homunculus and it's thought that the final Einzbern homunculus had decided not to continue the Holy Grail War. However, there was a discovery of another Einzbern homunculus in a castle the family had abandoned. It seems that the current Einzbern had no knowledge of it. The homunculus has no cognitive thought, and was just waiting to be used as a vessel of the Grail. It's thought it was most likely a prototype that was locked away for experimentation. Regardless, it is the current vessel of the Grail; the current 'key' to the Great Grail." The Priest stopped, to let what he had said sink in before he continued.

"How is this War running if the current head of the Einzbern family ended the War then? Surely they have control over it?" inquired Torsten confused.

"Well, it seems the Mages Association doesn't seem to care for the multiple objections there were to the continuation of the War. Even from within their own ranks," the Priest said, consternation colouring his voice. "As far as the Mages Association is concerned, this is to be the final War using the final possible vessel. It was obviously decided that they could not use the current head of the Einzberns, also a homunculus, to continue the War against their will. The Church, for its part, appealed for the War to be stopped. However, the Mages Association intended to proceed. As such, I was appointed as the final observer of the Holy Grail War."

"I don't quite understand. Is it the fact the Grail vessel is this odd homunculus the reason that you think the War itself has gone awry somehow?" Torsten asked.

"Indeed. That's my thoughts on the matter anyway," the Priest stated in a matter of fact manner. "The vessel is odd and the original families are no longer running the show. This War is floating in strange waters. I can only hope that it does not spiral into chaos like the last War in Fuyuki City."

"Ok then, how is the War in Lyon? I assume another family simply allowed their dominion to be used?" Torsten asked, suspecting he knew which family is involved.

"Indeed, your assumption is correct. I can tell you it was the Roux family that allowed the War to be conducted in Lyon and they currently have the once dismantled Great Grail set up in their protection," Father Chevalier said, staring right into Torsten's eyes as he spoke, as if searching for weakness.

"I knew it," Torsten said.

"Well that's jes' great," Saber said out of the blue. "So this War was doomed tae be an unorthodox conflict from the start? Bloody fantastic… Well, fine. I guess that's all then, Father?"

"That's as much as I know," replied the priest. "However, I feel I must ask something." He looked at Torsten. "Why did you ask about Roux?"

Torsten had feared this question. He gulped and looked away.

"Is there something wrong?" Chevalier gave the young Magus a worried look.

"I met her yesterday," Torsten blurted out. "I met Roux. She threatened to, well... She threatened to kill me."

The priest made a confused face for a split second. Torsten thought to ask him about it before it vanished and Chevalier quickly spoke to cover it up. "That certainly doesn't sound like the Josephine Roux I know."

"Which is exactly why I came here: I wanted to know if something happened while she was away. Something that changed her. That fact that you don't know anything..." Torsten trailed off.

Chevalier mirrored Torsten's melancholy. "You'll have to confront her yourself to find out more, I'm afraid. When I met her before the War, she was very much the same girl I watched grow up. I cannot say why she would threaten you."

As Torsten nodded solemnly in reply, the room went silent. The lack of sound was thick and heavy with a sense of dread, weighing down upon the Master, Servant and priest.

Saber wished to comfort his Master, but knew not the right words. Instead, he decided he had the break the silence that only appeared to make his Master feel even worse than he already did.

"I have a question for you," the Servant said, leaning forward on the couch. Both Chevalier and Torsten looked relieved, both praying Saber was changing the topic of conversation. "Who exactly are you?" Guillaume Chevalier closed his eyes as a smile formed on his lips upon hearing this question. He'd often been asked it before, but only by people who had seen him in combat. He was used to it by now.

"A simple man of the cloth Saber," the Priest uttered mysteriously with a smile returning to his face. "A simple man of the cloth."

"I find that hard tae believe, but if you're not going tae tell me then fine," muttered Saber, frustrated. "Anyway, we'd best get going, innae that right Torsten?" The Servant stood up, confirming it was indeed time to leave. For the sake of removing his Master from the negativity that threatened to destroy his short-lived confidence, Saber took the initiative.

"I suppose so," Torsten said as he stood and looked at a clock on the wall. "I can't believe it's already 4pm. Thanks for your time, Father." Torsten extended a hand to the Priest.

"Anytime young Torsten, anytime!" Chevalier said. He stood and grasped Torsten's hand in an energetic handshake. "And I've told you that you can call me Guillaume how many times?" The priest let out a laugh.

"Come on, Saber," Torsten said, heading towards the door to the Church hall. His legs were still shaky from the fight earlier, so his steps were awkward. Saber followed directly behind.

"You be careful out there, Torsten!" the Priest called as they left the room and entered the main section of the Church. "There could be more of those thugs outside. Or worse, the Servant and Master that spawned them."

As Chevalier watched the pair leave the Church proper, he fell back into his chair. _Just what are you thinking, Josephine? _

* * *

><p>"Hah! They got them all," the suited man said, his head buried in a laptop computer. The man was sitting in a luxurious apartment, adorned with dark wood furnishings and all manner of modern conveniences. He was at a desk in the study, checking the stock market on the laptop of the man who owned the apartment.<p>

"Well, it's not like they were meant to succeed right?" said a voice from outside the door, thick with an upper class English accent. "None of the other Security Detail did much right?"

"Of course, but I did expect this kid to perhaps get his head handed to him. I mean, he actually shook my hand. What an idiot," laughed the man in the study. He scoured the web for the most recent economic news. However, that was only a facet of what he needed to manipulate stock market in his favour. Everything from recent natural disaster reports to political scandals were necessary for the man to make an educated decision with money.

The source of the other voice walked into the study at the sound of the laughter. He was eerily similar to the man on the computer, wearing a high class business suit and hair slicked back in an efficient hairdo. At a glance, the pair could be considered long lost brothers or even twins. However, there were specific differences between them. The man on the computer favoured black suits, had blonde hair and his face was perfect and unblemished in anyway, while the man who just walked in had a vertical scar over his right eye that dissected his eyebrow into two, slicked back brown hair and preferred a much brighter grey with his suits.

"I have to admit that, from what you told me," the man that just walked in said as he sat and reclined in the couch opposite his lookalike buried in the laptop. "The young Master does seem somewhat of a fool. But he has Saber, so we must not underestimate them."

The man that just sat down took out a cigarillo from his jacket and a lighter with the name 'James Cobb' engraved into it from his pants pocket. As he lit up, James Cobb thought about the doppelganger sitting across from him. His Servant was a true enigma. For one, he was an Assassin class Servant that wasn't specifically one of the Hashshashin assassins, despite Cobb planning for it and even having an artefact prepared from one of them. While this wasn't impossible considering events of other Grail Wars, it was incredibly rare. In addition to this, he was an almost perfect doppelganger of his Master. Not to mention his truly unorthodox powers and tactics.

Assassin had suggested that they meet all the other Masters and Servants before trying to actually jump into the fray. Thanks to an innate power of Assassin that the Servant himself called the 'Free Market', he could tell all details of a Servant by merely glancing at the Servant or their Master. An effect that could win the pair the entire War.

_Our plan is already in motion, and all we have done is meet our opponent_s, Cobb mused to himself, taking the first puff of his cigarillo.

Still, Cobb could not deny the oddity of his Servant. He had never heard of a doppelganger as a Servant. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly displeased, but it was disconcerting that his summoning had not gone as planned. At least this Servant was good at the same things as its Master. One night on the computer, scouring the stock markets, and he had already predicted the collapse of two businesses and increased profits of Cobb's own ventures as a result of this knowledge and shuffling of some funds and assets.

While the twenty five years young James Cobb was a business wunderkind that was already a millionaire by the sheer skill and efficiency with which he manipulated the stock market, his Servant was something else. It was as if Assassin was made for pure gain; to produce profit endlessly by crushing the competition through trickery, guile and cruelty. James Cobb couldn't deny that he liked him.

"So, associate, what's our next move?" asked Assassin, raising his head from the laptop after just gaining two million dollars worth of profit in fifteen minutes of activity on the computer.

"I thought you were the one with the plan, Assassin," stated Cobb between puffs.

"Now Master," Assassin began dramatically. "We are in this together as business partners! I need the view of my associate to continue." He spread his arms wide as he talked. This was another rather minor but also rather notable difference between the pair; a flair for showmanship.

"Well, if my views are that important then I must insist we at least attempt to take down another Master and Servant for experience," replied James, sure of his words.

"Surely you remember me telling you that I am not suited for direct combat?" Assassin asked jokingly. He closed the laptop and placed it on the arm of his chair.

"Why, of course I do. But your Security Detail is surely made for combat purposes? It would be good to get a feel for proper battle, and I have just the target in mind," the Master said, an evil grin forming on his face.

* * *

><p>It was growing dark when Torsten reached home, Saber in tow and spiritualised. Both were silent during the trip back, mulling over what they had been told about the current Grail War from Father Chevalier. As soon as Torsten locked the front door behind him, he stumbled to the living room and collapsed on the couch. He wasn't exactly tired, but he was mentally drained from everything that had happened today. He wasn't much closer to figuring out the problem with Roux, or why she has become the way she is, but he had learned that the Holy Grail War at present is flawed in some way.<p>

"I meant tae say this earlier," Saber said as he materialised beside the couch. "But ye did a good job today." He looked down at the heap of Torsten on the couch and gave him a smile.

"Thanks," replied Torsten, sounding distant. "But I messed up the spell. I couldn't even pull out the full power of Räumlich Einsturz when I needed it the most."

"Ach, don't be daft," Saber barked with a wave of his hand. "Ye pulled the spell out in a fight, completing the entire chant without breaking your concentration. Quit yer whinging and look at what ye've done, not what you could o' done."

"Your right, your right," Torsten conceded. "I should just be happy I got through that without dying, eh?" He gave a weak smile in Saber's direction. Saber's smile turned into a decidedly cheeky one.

"Oh aye, you're lucky to be alive there Torsten," began Saber, throwing his arms up in an exaggerated display of frustration. "Lord knows _I_ wasnnae gonna' save you! You're too much of a hassle, you know?" Saber let out a hearty laugh. In a mock display of anguish, Torsten clutched at his heart.

"In my most dire hour," laughed Torsten. "Even my own Servant abandons me!" The pair shared a laugh for a minute or two; a much needed moment of joy for both of them. When the pair settled, Torsten left to prepare himself dinner. He was no chef, but he cooked a mean Chicken Schnitzel. Considering how harrowing the day was, he figured he needed dinner especially today. Saber sat and cleaned his blade on the couch after turning on the local news. He had remarked to Torsten earlier that any strange activity reported could be connected to the Grail War, and had turned it up load enough for Torsten to hear in the kitchen.

Torsten noticed that Saber often cleaned his sword when he was alone and materialised or simply had nothing else to do. He always had a calm look about him every time Torsten saw Saber clean his sword.

_It must be how he relaxes,_ thought Torsten. _He almost looks like he is meditative when he does that…_ It was then something on the news caught his attention. He left the kitchen to pay better attention.

"… reports from the scene indicate that multiple bodies, at least five confirmed, were found in the alleyway," the news presenter on TV said. "Each body was mutilated in a horrific manner. The Police have yet release a statement on what is known about the killer, but _have_ stated they are still in the midst of examining the crime scene for evidence. What is known, however, is that the person that originally found the bodies stated that the bodies were in such a horrific state that they doubted it was the handiwork of a human. And that brings us to the weather with…"

Torsten tore his head away from the screen, and looked at Saber. Saber was stilling staring at the screen, a serious expression replacing the calmness that polishing his sword had created.

"Hey, Saber?" asked Torsten.

"Aye?" replied Saber, his eyes still fixated on the screen, despite the news already changing to the weather.

"What do you think the chances are that something like this happens that is totally unrelated to the Grail War, while the War is running?" inquired Torsten, knowing Saber's answer.

"Slim tae none lad, slim tae none," Saber said, finally turning to face Torsten.

"That's what I thought," said Torsten, returning to the kitchen and finishing his cooking.

He ate his meal in the kitchen, contemplating the news report on television. He knew that one way a Servant could accumulate mana was to harvest the life-force of humans. However, that didn't require the horrific mutilation of the victim.

_Either the Servant and Master don't know what they are doing, _Torsten pondered as he ate. _The Servant has no qualms about destroying the secrecy of the Art and Magi or… Or the Servant was a sadistic killer. That's assuming this is the result of someone to do with the war, but it's just too big of a coincidence._

Torsten cleaned his plate and returned to the living room to find Saber sitting on the couch, his bladed leaning on his shoulder and threaded through his hairy crossed arms. Saber turned to face his young Master and looked expectantly at him.

"Saber," began Torsten, his eyes determined and voice strong. "We need to investigate those killings. I'm sure the perpetrator is a Servant involved in the War, and as a Magus it's my duty to ensure acts that threaten the secrecy of the Art are dealt with." He locked eyes with the Servant before him.

"Agreed," said Saber, standing from the couch and spiritualising. "Lead the way lad! And steel yerself. We could be heading right intae our first conflict with a Master and Servant. Stay on yer toes at all times out there."

"Right," said Torsten, grabbing a jacket for the cold outside and making his way to the door. He checked his watch after leaving the house. 7:30pm was too early for an obvious manoeuvre, no matter how audacious the enemy Master and Servant were.

"I think we should start off at the crime scene and look around the immediate area for any evidence of the usage of the Art. What do you think?" asked Torsten to seemingly nothing.

"Good idea lad. It's too early tae do much more than that anyway," agreed Saber.

The pair headed for the crime scene mentioned on TV. It was about thirty minutes away on foot, and the police were still all over the area when they arrived. Torsten tried to get as a good a look as he could at the actual alleyway without looking suspicious, but the Police had cordoned off the area and erected a canopy over the bodies. Despite trying to look inconspicuous, the repeated passing of the crime scene did not go unnoticed by the two gendarmes posted there on guard duty.

Not wanting to push his luck, the Master of Saber decided to simply start searching the area for any sort of clue that linked the killings with the Holy Grail War. After a few hours of trekking the block with no success, usual pedestrian crowds were beginning to thin and disappear. By midnight, he was alone and about six blocks away from the alleyway where the bodies were found.

"I suppose now we can simply look for enemy Masters?" asked Torsten out loud, sticking his hands in his pockets to save them from the chill of the night.

"Aye, seems like a good idea tae me," replied the invisible Servant. "Now is the time tae be extra careful. Keep your wits aboot yersel' and we'll be fine. Remember, I'm here too."

As much as Torsten knew his Servant was there to protect him, being told by Saber directly made him feel much more reassured. This legendary Scottish hero was on his side and ready to die for him. It was both a thrilling and mildly disturbing thought. Torsten's thoughts on Saber's words were shattered like glass when he heard the scream.

A high pitched squeal emanated from a few blocks away. Torsten immediately set off in a run towards the source of the scream. There was no need to consult Saber about it. This was the murderer striking once again and if it was someone involved in the War, he had to stop it.

The scream seemed to have come from an open square block used as communal meeting place. On all sides of the empty block were cafes, none of which were open at this time of the night. The block itself was cobblestoned, and in its centre a fountain rose from the ground. It was not an ornate fountain, but it was ground level and wide.

When Torsten arrived at a corner opening into the block he stopped, his eyes immediately fixed on the fountain and the trio of people at one side of it. While Torsten was too far from the fountain at the corner to make out the specific details of the figures near the fountain, he could tell one was tall and wearing a heavy coat. They stood to one side, holding two indistinguishable objects in their hands, their head looking awfully large and cylindrical. The other figures were almost in an embrace at the very edge of the fountain, both women from their figures. The one facing the fountain was plunging something into the abdomen of the other, who was now limp.

Saber materialised as Torsten hit the corner and witnessed the scene. He was just about to warn Torsten of the danger of rushing in unprepared when the young Master burst into a run towards the figures surrounding the fountain.

"Stop!" was all Torsten could manage to say as he charged at the figures around the fountain. The tall one standing to the side lifted the objects in his hands and thanks to the light from street lamps bouncing clearly off them, Torsten realised they were revolvers and the man was encased in some sort of armour. The woman plunging something into the source of the original scream turned her head at the Torsten's plea to stop, with a sick smile plastered over her blood soaked face, and released her grip on the limp body she was holding. It fell backwards into the fountain with a splash and sunk. As it fell further into the fountain, the water turned crimson from blood that was pouring out of the body in copious amounts.

Within two seconds, Saber had caught up with Torsten, deciding to save his lecture on his Master's rashness for later. The iron clad man and woman at the fountain didn't attack, but the man had readied his weapons and the woman had turned completely around to face the oncoming Master and Servant. Torsten stopped running about ten metres from the murderous pair in front of them and Saber stopped in front of his Master, prepared to defend him to the death.

"Well, well, well…" the bloody woman said, licking her bloodstained lips with glee. "Just what do we have here?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter down, and leading into a good one! Hope you liked it, and I'll have more soon! ^^

P.S. I liked that guesswork in the reviews ;)


	7. Sport de Sang

Chapter 7  
>Sport de Sang<p>

The Masters and Servants stared each other down. Torsten, in a panic, was not sure how to proceed. He had not thought out any sort of plan. He acted on instinct after seeing somebody getting attacked. However, now that he could clearly see his opponents, he was having second thoughts about neglecting to strategise.

The woman before Torsten had tousled black hair framing her with what seemed like horrific scarring on the right side of her face. The scars surrounded the right eye, and wrapped around her head. Coupled with her sickening smile and the fresh blood from her victim covering her clothes and face, she was the epitome of what all people fear; an uncaring, unfeeling killer.

The iron clad man beside her was an imposing figure and it was easy to tell he was the Servant of the pair. The fact that he was standing by while the Master slaughtered her victim was an indication that the Master may be the more truly dangerous of the pair. However, Torsten had an idea about the identity of this iron clad servant. More than just the armour, his revolvers and long coat were a clear sign of some kind of stereotypical outlaw. Torsten knew only one outlaw that wore handmade iron armour. This Servant, was Edward 'Ned' Kelly, a controversial figure in Australian history and possibly a true 'anti-hero' if there ever was one.

"What a young Master you are," remarked the blood soaked woman, spinning the knife in her hand. "See, Archer? I can't be the worst Master in the War if this runt got in." She turned to her Servant, looking strangely proud of herself.

"Age has nothing to do with skill in this Holy Grail War," the iron Servant uttered in a tinny Australian drawl, words dripping with aggravation. He still had his revolvers held high, one pointed at Saber and the other at Torsten.

"So you're the murderer? The one on TV?" asked Torsten, the answer quite obvious. The woman sneered at the young man before her, intrigued by her new prey.

"Why yes I am young man. I go by the name of Rotmensen. Adelheid Rotmensen. I haven't been watching the television so I assume they are looking for little old me?" Adelheid attempted an innocent face that only made her look more sickening thanks to the still warm blood coating her.

"_I'm_ looking for you," Torsten replied, trying to sound tough. As much as he was petrified of this woman before him, he couldn't get sucked into a mind game. He had to concentrate and not drop his guard for an instant. "And my bet is that your Servant there is Ned Kelly?"

"Wow, you're good, boy!" Adelheid squealed as she clapped her hands together, her knife glinting in the lamp light. "Looks like we've been found out, Archer." As much as it was difficult to see in the iron Servant's helmet, Archer's eyes rolled.

"Ned Kelly, huh?" Saber laughed, gripping his sword tight and never taking his eyes off of Archer. "The famous Australian outlaw? Good one, Torsten." Adelheid proceeded to feign deep thinking and squinted at Saber, caressing her chin with her free hand.

"Well now," Adelheid said, putting up her hand in a mock surrender of her thought process. "It seems I can't quite tell who your Servant is. What a pity. He looks like a tough fucker; clearly a Saber judging by the overcompensation he has there. Not that it matters what it class he anyway." As Adelheid said the latter, her voice took on a different quality than before. It had been a strange form of playfulness, but now it there was something laced within her words. Something that made Torsten's spine tingle and his heart almost stop. It was pure bloodlust.

"Why doesn't it matter?" Torsten said, forcing the words out. He could see she was ready to strike, and her Servant already had the advantage of having a gun pointed at him and Saber. Saber had noticed the change in Adelheid's voice too, and he prepared to receive whatever this pair would muster.

"He's mine," Adelheid suddenly declared, all emotion drained from her voice. She charged at Torsten, knife out. Upon the words of her Master, Archer aimed both revolvers at Saber and began to fire. Saber was in front of Torsten, but far enough to his Master's side that having both revolvers pointed at him was optimum. It was unlikely Torsten would get shot by Archer now and Saber had to trust Torsten could stay alive long enough for him to finish off the ironclad gunslinger before him.

Torsten immediately projected a knife of his own and caught the blow of the crazed Adelheid while Saber rolled under Archer's fire into a run. Archer smirked inside his helmet and took off running as Saber chased. Even with the bulky armour, Archer could run with great speed, keeping Saber at a level distance from his back. The pair eventually ran so far as to leave the square, Saber taking one look back at his young Master before leaving.

"You can do it, lad," Saber said to himself as he left the square to fight his own battle.

* * *

><p>The force behind Adelheid's first blow was deceptively strong. His armed ached as the knife wielding pair's blades were locked together and shaking under the force of their masters. Torsten looked into his opponents face and was met with a crazed grin. In a momentary lapse of concentration, Torsten noticed that Adelheid was actually rather pretty. The burns on her face did little to mar her beauty, but she did that fine herself. The long black hair that framed her face and small features were horribly distorted by her crazed expression. Her canines were visible in her deadly smile and her eyes demented and wide.<p>

"Can't you feel it, boy?" Adelheid moaned, no strain from holding the knife evident in her voice. She exerted more pressure on her weapon, Torsten faltering under it.

"Feel… What?" Torsten forced through gritted teeth as he struggled to keep composed and in control. He did not expect that Adelheid would be this overwhelmingly strong.

"The great cacophony of death and destruction that surrounds us right now!" exclaimed Adelheid, ecstatic. She launched a jerk onto her knife and force Torsten off of her blade, following up with a horizontal slice. Torsten rolled back, creating space both physically and to think.

"Why did you kill all those people?" he said, reassuming a proper fighting posture. "You didn't even use their life force for mana!" The longer they talked, the more time Torsten could think of a strategy to fight this woman. She was so quick to charge at him, that he couldn't respond with a counterattack.

Adelheid dropped her aggressive stance and stood straight at the question. It was as if she was asked something so foreign she forgot what she was doing. "Why? Why?! Why not?! The blood, the pain, the killing… It fills me up. It's the only thing left that fills me up anymore!"

The almost cheerful tone her voice took on sickened Torsten. She was broken. Someone filled with a longing for something that she couldn't satiate. Something that she probably couldn't even describe if asked to. It reminded Torsten of the German word 'sehnsucht'; an indescribable longing that tugs at one's very soul. So indescribable, it has no true translation in English.

"I'm afraid your madness is at an end," said Torsten, sickened that the woman in front of him could be so cold and happy about what she had done."I'm here to stop you, and remove you from this War!"

After a moment of silence, the bloodied woman before Torsten let out a chilling laugh. It was maniacal in its length and volume. She clutched at her sides while Torsten watched in horror. He didn't know whether to take the time to strike or let her finish.

"That's wonderful!" said Adelheid still bent over and clutching her side. "Truly, it is." Her mood whiplashed once more and she sounded like she was in ecstasy, elongating her words as if to savour the moment. "Please, please try, young Master!"

Adelheid lunged at Torsten, but he saw it coming with her mood change and parried the lunging thrust of her knife, letting her fly past him. She immediately spun around, knife first, and tried catch the side of his head. He ducked, only to be kicked in the face. It blurred his vision and, as he stood, a flurry of blows from Adelheid met him. With each blow she yelled "Come on!" at the top of her lungs, her voice breaking from the sheer level of insanity she was pouring into her words.

Torsten did well and was able to dodge various blows, but he was not an able enough fighter to dodge or block them all. He shielded his face with his free arm and it received a deep slash. One lunging stab grazed his side, breaching his clothes and reaching his flesh. He felt the warm blood pour down his side and panicked. A single thought raced through his head.

_I- I'm going to die!_

* * *

><p>Archer and Saber had run down a commercial street connected to the square where they had left their Masters. There were a few cars left in the street that acted as cover for Saber from the hail of bullets that Archer produced with his revolvers. The armoured Servant had nimbly climbed on top of a van and used it as higher ground to fire from. Saber had to hide behind a car that was about twenty metres from the van and wait for a good moment to strike.<p>

"What's the matter, Saber?" Archer yelled between shots. "You gonna come out and fight or huddle behind there like a rat!?" He sprayed the car with rounds, the windshield blasting apart and tearing up the inside upholstery. Despite the destruction of his cover, Saber stayed perfectly calm. He knew Archer was trying to bait him into the open. The problem was he had to take the bait to get out of this situation.

"Fine, as ye wish ye ironclad twat!" roared Saber as he leapt out from behind his cover. He stood from cover during a volley of fire from Archer and launched himself on top of the car. Rounds impacted the car and ground around him. Saber charged forward over the car, running through the hail of bullets. He received a bullet or two to the arms and legs, but they were not that powerful a weapon for a Servant, Saber realised as he endured the pain of his wounds.

_He has a trick up his sleeve still,_ surmised the Scottish Servant as he ran. Archer noticed his bullets had little effect, just as he had expected.

Archer made a small smirk within his helmet that went unseen by Saber. He stopped firing and slammed his revolvers together, creating a burst of light. He extended his arms slowly from the centre of the glowing ball and the light stretched with his hands, moulding into the form of a rifle.

"I have a target for you… Betty!" said Archer raising the rifle at lightning speed and firing at Saber, who had just reached the bonnet of the car. Saber didn't want risk a blow from this new weapon, and rolled directly off the hood. The shot missed him by centimetres, as it burst straight through the hood of the car, blasting into the ground with enough force for Saber to feel the Earth shake.

_I don't want tae get hit by that,_ Saber thought to himself.

"Fuck!" cursed Archer. He had to actually reload this new weapon of his and he did so swiftly, getting a bullet from his coat and forcing it into his rifle's breech. By the time Archer finished, Saber was a mere five metres from the van. Saber looked up at Archer and smiled before leaping from where he stood, blade held up his head, and coming down where Archer stood on the van.

Archer immediately rolled off the van to the side, landing on the road. Saber's leap continued downward into the van, sword first, slicing into the roof. Archer aimed up at Saber with his rifle and fried once again. Saber slammed forward with the momentum of his leap, barely dodging the vicious fire from the rifle once again, as it flew into the night sky above Lyon.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" yelled Archer in pure rage at his target's refusal to be hit.

"Aw, are ye angry, little man?" Saber mocked from on top of the van, pulling out his blade and swinging off the van, sword first, at Archer. Archer had no time to dodge as he was in the middle of reload, and put off by his own anger.

_I have him!_ thought Saber, mere centimetres from hitting Archer square on the shoulder from above. Through Archer's helmet slit, the Scottish Servant could see the outlaw's eyes burn with hatred.

_ CLANG!_ The sound of metal on metal burst from the connection of Saber's blade and Archer's shoulder. Saber's feet touched the ground after his blade and he looked at where he expected Archer to be torn in two, only to see the outlaw's long brown coat torn, revealing armour underneath.

"You expected that to work?" said Archer, laughing inside his helmet. Saber pulled away and Archer tore off his now ruined coat to reveal the armour plates on his body. As far as Saber could tell, they covered more of his body now than they did in real life. His shoulders were covered wholly with a plate each, and his back now had a single plate of metal to protect against attacks from the rear. The only bare areas were just above the knee downwards, where the metal apron Ned Kelly wore ended. Saber's back was against the van.

_This isnae good…_ thought Saber.

* * *

><p>Torsten was panicked. He'd received minor but excruciating cuts all over his body now, and was starting to tire. Adelheid on the other hand seemed to be getting more and more energised, her tongue hanging out of her mouth like that of a dog, her smile inane. While Torsten had broken out of her earlier flurry of blows, he was still on the back foot, barely able to block continued assault.<p>

"I thought… you said… you'd… come to stop me?!" Adelheid screamed between blows. "Well? Are you going to stop me?!" She launched into a lightning fast lunge. Torsten saw it coming, and a ray of hope pierced his negative thoughts.

_ I have to ignore her babble…_ _And strike!_

Torsten tried to calm himself as the blade approached him and time seemed to slow down as he did so. He moved to the side in an efficient motion, allowing the blade to pass him without him switching to a completely defensive posture. He took his chance as Adelheid's outstretched arm was before him. She turned her wild eyes to meet his, and was met with eyes burning with determination. Torsten swung his projected knife down onto Adelheid's arm and it connected, slicing through her flesh cleanly, leave a ragged line in its wake on her arm. Blood immediately poured from the wound as Torsten backpedalled from his opponent.

_I got a hit in,_ realised Torsten, genuinely surprised.

Adelheid once again dropped her combative stance and stood straight, ignoring the young man who had struck her. Instead, she focused on the wound on her right arm. Blood dripped from it and she stared intently at it like it was out of this world.

In a sudden and with almost inhuman speed she turned and released a kick in Torsten's direction. There was no warning of the attack and no time to dodge. Torsten received her lightning fast foot directly to the stomach. The strength behind it was phenomenal and it sent Torsten flying backwards into to a heap on the ground. He struggled to breathe as his diaphragm twitched from the kick.

Adelheid was not finished, however, and jumped at Torsten, bringing her knife down to try and meet his throat. Torsten rolled out the way, still wheezing from the kick, as the knife hit the pavement with a sickening _CRACK_. The crazed murder flung out her right arm, trying to catch the still rolling Torsten, but missed by a hair. Torsten jumped up, his breathing beginning to return to normal, and realised something.

_I cannot win fighting her in this way._ Fighting head to head with Adelheid, Torsten now knew, was impossible. Any kind of wound she received seemed to enrage her further, and cause insane outbursts like what just happened. He had one option left.

"Es ist mein," the young Master began to chant.

* * *

><p>"So, ye've decided tae nae fight like a coward and face me?" mocked Saber, facing Archer. The armour of Archer's was going to be a headache to get through, but a close range fight is where he excelled.<p>

"I could say the same of you, cowering behind that car," remarked Archer, the tinny nature of his voice unsettling. "It seems that sword of yours cannot breach the Armour of the Highwayman. What a shame, mate." It was then Saber noticed a strange mark on the centre plate of Archer's armour.

"It seems something else pierced that armour o' yours," said Saber, gesturing with his blade to the pockmark like blemish on Archer's armour caused by Rider's Noble Phantasm. "If another Servant can dae it, I can dae it."

"Really, now? Doesn't look that way to me," Archer said with a chuckle. The echo of the outlaw's helmet made every laugh he uttered menacing. He pulled up his rifle. "If you get hit with this, you're going down you know."

"Exactly," Saber said, his eyes narrowing, grip tightening. "If." Saber launched himself at the outlaw, swinging his mighty blade horizontally. Archer had not finished reloading, and at close range a rifle was almost a complete hindrance. This was Saber's chance to finish this quick and save his Master.

Saber put all his force into his sword, hoping to obliterate that armour and land a clean hit. To his surprise, Archer didn't try to dodge at all. Instead, Archer brought up his rifle to block Saber's sword, spinning it in one hand and using his second to load the rifle with ammo from his belt.

The sword and rifle clashed, with both holding steady. Saber looked in shock at Archer, whose eyes exuded confidence through his menacing helm. Archer pushed away Saber's blade, leaving the Scottish Servant open, and Archer flipped his rifle in his hands once again, smashing Saber in the chin with the wooden butt.

"Saber," said Archer quietly, "Meet Betty, the Outlaw's Rifle." The blow to Saber's chin staggered the Servant and shook his vision. Archer took the opportunity to aim point blank with Betty, and fire. Saber did the only thing he could and simply collapsed as low as possible to the ground, dodging a round from the rifle once again. The bullet hit the van with such force it pierced it, dragging it over and toppling it as the bullet sped into a café behind it. The sound of shattering glass and the crumpling of metal blasted down the street.

"You just won't keep still, will you?" yelled Archer as he came in close to reload and fire once more. Saber's distorted vision now somewhat recovered, he rolled and stood, taking a swipe to make Archer back off. It didn't work, as Archer used his rifle to block his blade once again and charge forward. He flipped the rifle off the blade and used it to ram Saber in the stomach. A solid hit but Saber just powered through it, refusing to flinch. He took a hand off his extended sword and grabbed the front of Archer's helmet that was now too close for comfort. He propelled it back and downwards, slamming it into the ground with enough force to crack the road.

"Some nice tricks there, Archer!" exclaimed Saber as he took hold of his sword with two hands once more. "And I thought that outlaws were inept dogs!" He twirled his sword in his hands, pointing it downwards, and plunged it towards Archer. The outlaw flicked his rifle directly in its path, holding it perpendicular to his body and blocking the tip of Saber's blade.

"I never got to use this against people in my time. People just took pot-shots at each other back then. "Archer said, voice strained. He took a hand away from his rifle and reloaded it while Saber kept pressing the blade downwards. "But it works against close-range fighters like you!" Archer let fly with a kick to Saber's leg. Saber released the force on the outlaw's rifle and jumped back to avoid getting tripped. Archer flipped upswung out his rifle like a club. It passed mere millimetres from Saber's face, and the Scottish Servant made out the letter 'K' carved into the butt of the rifle as it flew past his nose.

_I have to finish this now,_ Saber thought. _Torsten needs my help! I'll have tae use it. I just hope nae one can hear this._ Saber raised his blade into a steady stance as Archer's rifle flipped back into his grip and pointed towards the Scottish Servant.

"This time," said Archer, "just stand there and DIE!" He raised the gun to his shoulder to fire another point blank shot. Saber just stood in one place, holding his ground. As Archer pulled on the trigger, Saber leapt forward at the rifle, holding his blade high above his head and activating his Noble Phantasm with three simple words.

"Uallas Claidheamh Mòr!" the Scottish Servant screamed, bringing down his blade as the gun fired. What happened next was almost like slow motion. Archer could not move fast enough to dodge, but he expected the bullet from Betty to hit its target and burst straight through. What happened, however, filled Archer with dread.

The bullet flew from Betty, right at Saber. As the Scottish Servant brought down his blade, however, it connected with the bullet from the Rifle of the Outlaw, obliterating it, not even slowing the downward slash of the sword. Archer suddenly recognised the sword in Saber's hands. It must have been due to the utterance of its name, as if tore away a cloak that shielded it's very identity from his eyes. With the identity of the Noble Phantasm comes the identity of the Servant, and it dawned on Archer just who he had been fighting.

"You're-," was all Archer could say before the downward slash of Saber blasted downward on Archer's left shoulder, breaching his armour and almost bifurcating the Servant from the shoulder down. As the blade exited Archer's body, the outlaw collapsed to his knees, and looked up at his opponent. Saber was looking down on his opponent with a neutral face. He knew he had won.

"Well, at least I got killed by someone half decent, eh?" said Archer, his pain obvious. The outlaw coughed up blood inside his helmet. Thanks to the blow to the shoulder, part of the helmet had been damaged, so he tore it off with his right hand. He had a similar appearance to Saber, with a bushy brown beard framing his face. He looked much younger than the Scottish Servant even with the beard; younger, but just as world weary. "Do me a favour?"

"What?" The Scottish Servant would not leave a dying man's words unheard. And if possible, he'd do what Archer asked of him.

"Kill that psycho I was forced to call a Master," he said with a strange smile. "She was… nothing but trouble." With his request said, the Servant started to dissolve from the knees upwards, turning into red sand and scattering in the wind. Within moments, the Servant of class Archer, Edward 'Ned' Kelly was gone.

* * *

><p>"Oh, so you're going to break out the Art, huh?" said Adelheid as she closed in on Torsten. "Do you think it'll help you win? I call pipe-dream." She held her knife out at her side, slick with Torsten's blood. The young Master was playing carefully. He only had one chance to land this spell and he needed absolute concentration to make it count.<p>

_Calm yourself,_ he said to himself in his mind. _Deep breaths._ He uttered the second line of his chant.

"Raum ist mein," he said, keeping his eyes on Adelheid. She was cautious thanks to his chant, but she wouldn't be perturbed much longer.

"Enough of this!" yelled Adelheid and she charged once again, slashing directly at Torsten's face. He blocked solidly, halting her blade. "Oh ho, now you've gotten feisty! Fantastic, I shall make you bloom beautifully! You shall fill me like the Master of Rider should have!" Adelheid let loose a kick to Torsten's legs. It hurt, but he endured without tripping. Concentration was the key now.

"Es wird schließen," Torsten continued, holding firm. Suddenly, Adelheid produced monstrous strength and kicked Torsten square in the stomach again. Torsten reeled backwards, but kept on his feet back pedalling. For his plan to work, he'd have to take a big risk. It was almost time to start it. The crazed woman charged at him, quickly eliminating the space made between them by her kick, trying to take advantage of a winded opponent.

"Dieser raum schließen," said Torsten, completing the chant painfully, his stomach aching. Then, he did something that made even Adelheid hesitate. He deliberately dissolved his projected weapon, and stood unarmed.

_The only way to stop her attacks properly, is to halt that knife, _he thought. _I think I know how to do that._ Torsten readied himself as Adelheid, face filled with crazed bloodlust, charged at him.

She threw out her knife pointing it at his face. Quick as a flash, Torsten lifted his hand in the path of the knife. It slid right through his flesh, piercing his hand entirely. Using the leverage he now had on the knife, he pulled the knife's direction down. Adelheid's continued forward momentum caused her to crash right into Torsten, her eyes wide in crazed ecstasy. The pair fell backwards to the ground, with Adelheid landing on her knees, straddling over Torsten. The young Master clenched his fist around Adelheid's knife hand, and she stared into his eyes, and he into hers. There was nothing in Adelheid's eyes. They were dead orbs. No longer windows to the soul, only used for processing the images of her prey.

_Now!_ Torsten's mind screamed. With his free hand, he slammed Adelheid in the lower ribs, below her chest.

"Räumlich Einsturz!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. With a sickening _SPRAK_ the floating ribs inside Adelheid were compressed as the space they existed in was crushed. The skin that covered them was torn in the compression, creating a gaping wound in her side the size of Torsten's palm.

"Ah, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" howled Adelheid. Her face contorted in agony unimaginable to the young Master. Torsten then removed his hand from her chest and the space that was compressed explosively decompressed. Upon decompression, the spell released the crushed shards of Adelheid's ribs. Splinters flew inwards, piercing multiple organs. Other pieces flew outwards and stuck fast in other ribs and jutted out from the open hole in her side.

Torsten pushed Adelheid off of himself, rolling her onto her back beside him. Torsten tried to stand as Adelheid lay wheezing beside him. His hand didn't hurt yet, but he suspected that it was the adrenaline coursing through his body that was doing that. Adelheid suddenly coughed up blood on the ground beside her. She was not long for this world. Torsten didn't know what to do. He had just killed a person. Regardless of whether she was a murderer, Torsten had just taken her life.

"Ah… So this was it," said Adelheid so weakly it was barely audible. "This is what has been missing." Torsten looked at the broken person at his feet. He could not help but feel some modicum of pity for her. She may have been a borderline mindless murderer and beyond redemption, but the young Master could not bring himself to rob her of compassion.

"I'm… I'm sorry," said Torsten. He had no idea what he was saying until it came out. He just apologised to someone he had doomed to death. Torsten thought himself mad, apologising to his defeated foe. The young Master couldn't comprehend the situation properly and simply said the first thing that seemed the least bewildered sounding.

"Sorry?" spluttered Adelheid, blood leaking from her mouth. "But you've finally given me what I wanted for so long. It seems I was wrong about what filled me. If anything, I should say thank you." Torsten fought back the urge to tear up at the mere thought of being thanked for taking a life. Becoming a murderer was something he couldn't handle in and of itself, never mind being told he did the right thing. Not to mention Adelheid's disturbing change in personality now that she was dying. She seemed unnaturally calm, almost kind even. It confused Torsten greatly and he couldn't bear much more of her talk of 'thank you's' and 'longing'.

With the most genuine smile Adelheid had ever given, she closed her eyes never to open them again. Torsten heard footsteps behind him. He didn't need to turn round to know who it was. He trusted Saber would be victorious.

"She's dead, lad?" asked Saber, sensing Torsten's dilemma. He was confused by the scene of the smiling yet lifeless body of Adelheid Rotmensen, but said nothing of it.

"Y-yeah," stammered Torsten. He looked over to the fountain where Adelheid's last victim still lay. There was nothing he could do for her. All he did, all he could have done, was to kill her killer. It was then Torsten looked at his bloodied hand. It was slicked with what once gave Adelheid life.

_Was that the right thing to do?_ he thought as he gazed at his crimson stained palm. Saber placed a hand on Torsten's shoulder.

"Come on, Master. We should get out of here and back to the house." Torsten knew Saber was right. They could talk and rest at home. As it was, Torsten was starting to feel the pain from his wounds. The sooner they got back, the better.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Yet another fun chapter to write! More and more to come, as per usual, and I hope you enjoyed that fight! ^^

I should be able to keep the weekly schedule for a little while longer than anticipated too.


	8. Magique Rencontre D'Affaires

Chapter 8  
>Magique Rencontre D'Affaires<p>

It was 2am and Josephine Roux was still awake, perusing tomes in the study of her villa on the outskirts of Lyon. The study was currently a mess, with books lying everywhere the eye could see, as Roux sat in a beautiful antique leather chair in front a massive wooden desk that featured exquisite carvings and detail work. This was not uncommon for abodes owned by the Roux family. As the family held sway over Lyon specifically, and much of France indirectly, there where usable villas, mansions and households across France that could be used at any time for any purpose imaginable just like this one. This villa, however, was very special and of critical importance to the current Grail War. It was the current location of the Great Grail that was dismantled after the 5th Holy Grail War. The Great Grail was the magic circle made for the Holy Grail War to function, and as such, was the centre of the War.

Currently, Roux was doing research on the homunculus found that would act as a vessel for the 'Holy Grail', which ignites the power of the Great Grail, allowing wishes to be granted to the winner of the Holy Grail War. The sudden discovery of this homunculus troubled Roux. It was unusual for it to be abandoned as it was. So far, her research had not yielded many answers on its purpose. However, she had found out details of the Castle it was found in.

It was named 'Höllenschlund', and was the site of experimentation with homunculi and other elements of magecraft conducted by the Einzbern family. The castle had suddenly been abandoned prior to the first Holy Grail War. The reason for the castle being abandoned was unknown to Roux, but she suspected it had something to do with the homunculus. Her suspicions were aroused immediately upon finding out the existence of the homunculus from her own father. She was also told it was the single thing left in the castle, deep in the dungeons, behind both physical and ethereal security. It seemed the current head of the Einzberns knew nothing of this homunculus or even the castle, and when Roux pressed he father for more he refused to answer.

It was then she decided that, if she had to place her life on the line in a War depending on this mysterious homunculus, she would find out as much as possible by herself. She already knew more than the Observer of the War from conversations with the man, but her progress had halted at the rough nature of the castle Hölle Mund. She could find no more information on it, as if it had never existed. While she poured over the book in her hands, frustratingly finding nothing of worth and about to add it to a pile of at least fifty books lying on the floor, there was a knock at the study door.

"Come in," replied Roux to the door. She tossed the book on the pile and pinched her nose between her fingers. She was tired and the words within the books were slowly becoming a chaotic mess of incoherent gibberish to her restless brain.

"Excuse me, Master," came a voice as the door opened to reveal a tall, blonde haired, blue eyed woman. She carried with her tea and sandwiches on a silver tray. "I thought you might need something to take you away from the books for a while. I hope I'm not interrupting?" Avoiding the minefield of books laying around the floor, the tall woman brought the tray to Roux's desk, pouring a cup for the frustrated young woman.

"Thank you, Lancer," she said, gratefully taking her cup of tea and taking a long sip. "I have made barely any progress. That in itself is perturbing. There is just a lack of information surrounding this War and the homunculus that worries me." Lancer stood quietly by her Master's side and listened. She shared the same worries as her Master, like anyone involved with the current Grail War should. However, Lancer knew that her Master would be able to do something about it.

"Is there anyone else we can approach for information?" asked Lancer, trying to fire the cylinder's within Roux's mind.

"No, I'm afraid," said the young woman, taking another sip from her tea. It was then that her thoughts strayed to how good this tea was, especially given the Servant that created it. She took a small sandwich and began to eat. She had skipped dinner tonight to do her research. Her hunger reared its ugly head the moment the first bite hit her stomach.

_Ugh, Roux_ suddenly thought, _I can't even concentrate on the problem at hand anymore! I suppose I really needed that break…_

"Is something wrong, Master?" asked Lancer, noticing Roux's sudden annoyed looking face. "Was the tea and sandwiches not up to your standards?" Roux quickly finished the small sandwich in her hand, perhaps faster and less graceful than she should have.

"They are fine, Lancer," replied Roux, smiling at her Servant's amusing jump to conclusions. "My mind is just weary tonight and I'm annoyed at myself for not doing better."

"I see," said Lancer, nodding and secretly glad that she had done well with her preparation of tea and sandwiches. She paused. There was a question she wanted to ask her Master. It was about a subject that, Lancer sensed, Roux was not telling the full truth about. "If I may Master, could I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Lancer," said Roux, always surprised by Lancer's extreme formality. Even to a girl from a noble house of Magi, the formality made her feel uneasy. "Ask whatever you like. We are partners after all, you must remember."

"Very well," Lancer quietly uttered, clearing her throat. "Just who is Torsten Amsel is to you? I'm concerned about you closeness with him." There was a moment of silence where Roux closed her eyes.

"He's nothing but an inept Magus I used to know. Nothing more," said Roux quietly, unable to hide the sadness in her voice with rage this time. Lancer knew she wasn't telling the truth, but through this lie, the truth was so easily apparent. Not only was the truth clear, it sounded to Lancer that, perhaps, Roux was talking to herself when she answered her Servant's question.

* * *

><p>It was about 11:20am when Torsten awoke in severe pain. Everywhere on his body ached, and the hand that was skewered by Adelheid's knife was especially painful, with a sharp throbbing pain pulsating around the wound. When Torsten had arrived home, he had almost collapsed, and Saber had to help him to his bed. Saber also tended to his wounds and sat at his bedside, which is where he still sat.<p>

"So you're awake then, Master?" he said, sounding relieved. "Still feeling a wee bit achy?" Torsten fought the urge to retort with a bitter and pain induced comeback to that question. Instead he just groaned in a manner he felt said 'yes'.

"Haha," laughed the Scottish Servant heartily. "Ye survived lad, ye survived!" Saber was clearly ecstatic. Torsten found it hard to be happy about what had happened. The pain he felt now had little to do with it. He still remembered placing his hand to Adelheid's side, and stealing her life away. He was now a killer and it terrified him.

"I got lucky," said Torsten softly. "Very lucky, in fact. As far as I can tell, the knife missed pretty much every nerve and tendon it could have hit when it went through my hand." He flexed the hand Saber bandaged last night. It hurt, but it was usable for simple tasks. Torsten then lifted his other hand, the hand he used to kill Adelheid and stared at it. Saber had gotten the blood off, but it still felt slick and warm with her blood.

"Hah," scoffed Saber, shaking his head. "Luck had nothin' tae dae wi' it. Sure, your hand could have turned out worse, but you pulled off that spell in its entirety last night, right? Ye did a good job out there last night. You should be proud." Torsten just hung his head at the thought of feeling proud about killing someone.

"Why should I feel proud?" mumbled Torsten, head still hung. "I killed someone. With this hand I took a life. Saber, did I do the right thing?" He turned to face his Servant, desperately seeking an answer. Saber sighed and shook his head, but smiled.

_My Master truly is an innocent lad,_ the Scottish Servant thought.

"Of course you did, Master," said Saber, placing a hand on Torsten's shoulder. "If you hadnae done what you did, more people would be dying. _You_ would be dead. Not to mention that people that enter this War should know the consequences of entering." There was a moment of silence as Torsten reflected on Saber's words. As much as he understood, he still didn't feel happy about it.

"I can tell what you're thinking you know," suddenly said Saber with a warm smile. "You don't have to feel happy about what you've done. That's probably what's really been bothering you, eh?" It was then that Torsten realised that Saber may have a point. The young Master knew he _had_ to kill Adelheid, and it was more likely he didn't know how to feel afterwards. Torsten gave a small nod to his Servant.

"Well, let me tell you," began Saber, taking his hand from Torsten's shoulder only to stare at it. "I killed many a man in my past life as a living human. Many a poor soul was ripped apart thanks to my blade. I never enjoyed any of the killing. Not one person was I happy about killing." Torsten was rather surprised to hear Saber say such things, but was also relieved. His Servant wasn't heartless killing machine.

"Thank you, Saber," said Torsten. He jumped out of bed and tried stretching a bit to see how bad the wounds of last night would affect him. His wounds screamed in sharp pain, but it was not so much as to debilitate him. He'd make do with his usual routine.

"No worries, lad," said Saber quietly as he vanished, returning to ethereal form. "No worries at all."

* * *

><p>Cecile Prideaux stood silently with her Servant, Caster, in the Parc de la Feyssine on the edge of the Rhone River. It was a large park, complete with walking and bike tracks, and was heavily wooded. The glow of the moon gave the park an eerie quality, accentuating the teeming darkness of the trees and the pure white of Cecile's dress. That night, she carried with her a scythe over her shoulder and was ready to enter the fray of the Grail War. The pair had little luck finding rival Masters that night, and decided to explore the Parc de la Feyssine as it would most likely become a site of battle during the War, being so large and central to Lyon.<p>

"It's a lovely night, Frau Meister," said Caster quietly, standing at the side of his Master, gazing into the moonlit Rhone. "We may not have found another Master, but we got to share this time together at least." Cecile turned to her Servant gave him a smile. Spending time with Caster was bittersweet. They both revelled in each others company, like young lovers always meant to be. However, it only reminded her that she had joined a bloody conflict of Magi; a conflict she must compete in to eliminate from the world.

"It is indeed a spectacular night," agreed Cecile, shifting the weight of a large scythe on her shoulder. "It was by no means a wasted effort coming out tonight. I hadn't been in Lyon for so long, I had forgotten a large portion of the city." She had visited Lyon often as a child with her parents on trips from further south in France. With the premature passing of her parents, she had not returned to Lyon for fears of bringing up happy memories that would quickly evolve into melancholy. However, this War had forced her hand and she had to come back to this place in her past.

"Are you alright, Meister? You look distant," asked Caster, visibly worried.

"I'm fine, Caster," said Cecile, reassuring her worried Servant. "Thank you." The pair smiled at each other, forgetting for a moment that they were both combatants in a War that would mean death to lose.

"Well, isn't this touching!" came a voice loudly from nearby trees. "Sorry to break up this little moonlit rendezvous, but we have business with the both of you." Cecile and Caster turned to the trees from where the voice floated from, and saw only the darkness mingling between the trunks of the trees. However, black shapes slowly formed in the dark like wraiths, and stepped out into moonlight. Cecile immediately recognised one of the black shapes as the moonlight illuminated its face; a handsome man, with slicked blonde hair and a pinstripe black suit.

"You!" hissed Cecile, flipping her scythe in one smooth action from her shoulder to both hands. "I've already dealt with your thugs. It seems as if you want some of the same yourself now?" Cecile was genuinely surprised by the intruder. She hadn't been able to tell he was there at all until he spoke.

_Just what is this man? _Cecile questioned in her own head. It was then that more of the shapes between the trees stepped out. Most turned out to be the Suits that Cecile and Caster had been able to dispatch earlier. However, there was one figure to step into the moonlight that shook Cecile's understanding of just what was happening. It was a man who could have been a clone of the man in the pinstripe suit, only with brown slicked black hair, a grey suit and a scar above his right eye.

"There are two?" asked Cecile out loud, Caster stepping in front of his Master as the figures moved into the moonlight and remaining silent. They stood in a line, at least five Suits and the two doppelgangers. "What is this? Who are you?"

"Now, now, now! No need to be so shocked!" laughed the blonde man, needlessly sweeping his already slicked hair back. "Who we are isn't important, you know? All you need to know is we're here to kill you." The brown haired man sighed. Cecile raised her scythe higher while Caster raised a single open hand directly at the blonde man, matching his Master's movements.

"Assassin, you really need to learn some class," uttered the brown haired man in disappointment with small shake of the head. "I apologise for my Servant's outburst. It seems he's riled up from lack of action. My name is James Cobb. I'm here tonight to eliminate you from this War." The man spoke in polite terms, but they hid venom in his voice that was unmistakable to Cecile.

_This man is ruthless_, she realised. _I don't know if he's toying with me or what… But his words are not sincere._

"Cecile Prideaux, Master o-" began Cecile before being cut off by the blonde man.

"Yes, yes, Master of Caster. I know all about your Servant, you know. There is need to waste words on such business when there are bigger deals to be done," the Servant known as Assassin said, looking at his Master for a cue. James Cobb nodded to his Servant, and Assassin swept out his arm from his side. "Protect your employer!"

The Suits all suddenly sprung to life from their hard-man façades, brandishing weapons from within their black suits are charged at Caster and Cecile at once. They were much more energised than the first time the pair confronted them.

"Watch out, Frau Meister! Assassin's presence seems to have affected them!" Caster yelled to his Master, a black flame forming in his outstretched hand. "Schwarz Flamme!"

The black flame engulfing Caster's hand exploded outwards in roughly spherical shape with a tail, and headed straight for Assassin at break neck speed. Assassin swiftly dodged to the side, spinning back to face his attacker with a smile as the ball of flame smashed into a tree behind the Servant. Assassin's Master just stood silently still, watching the ensuing chaos before his eyes.

The Suits enclosed on Caster and Cecile, Caster moving to cover his Master entirely from their grasp, and extended both arms out to his sides wreathed in black flame. He swept both arms inwards and crossed them, the flame sweeping in an arc from each hand. The arcs flew at the Suits, causing them to duck, and continued to the Master and his Servant. Both jumped out the way as the arc slammed into the trees. The trees impacted by the arc of flames stayed alight but they did not burn at all, the fires instead continuously flickering away on the surface of the trunks.

"Thanks, Caster," shouted Cecile, running forward at her Servants back. "Aeris Tractatio!" Suddenly, upon uttering the Latin chant, Cecile's speed increased almost double as the air pressure around her dropped, lowering friction with her and the air. Her scythe now felt lighter, as the air between the scythe and her hands supported part of the weight of the great weapon at the will of its master.

She reached her Servant's back and leapt upwards. Normally, Cecile could not hope of jumping over her full grown man of a Servant. However, with manipulation of the air around her, the air below her suddenly rushed upwards and with such force and precision to throw her far above Caster. Assassin flashed his pearl white teeth in a smile at this feat and James Cobb looked on in surprise. Cecile held her scythe horizontally and started to fall back down to Earth, producing an updraft of air to soften her landing.

"What a deft display of grace and skill, Frau Meister!" said Caster as he raised both hands in front of him, engulfing them in black flames. Cecile touched gracefully to the ground in front of her Servant and mere metre from the now reorganised Suits, her pure white dress billowing out beneath her. Upon her landing, she grasped the handle on her Scythe's shaft and let fly with a sweep. Her scythe was specially designed. It had the size of a War Scythe and was thus extra heavy, but it retained the shape and blade of a standard farming Scythe, including the handles down the shaft for swift sweeping movements for harvests. The handles also allowed for swift close range sweeps.

The scythe swung short of all the Suits, making them hesitate in surprise until the burst of air from the scythe's sweep hit them. Each Suit froze where they stood when hit with the air. For a moment all combatants just stared at the suddenly frozen Suits. Then, suddenly, they all slid apart at the stomach, sliced in half by the wind borne from the swing of Cecile's scythe. Each of the Suits dissolved as they slid apart, bursting into silver particles.

"It seems that you're not so frail a girl after all, Ms. Prideaux" said Cobb, showing a disturbing smile that broke his façade of politeness. "Looks like we need backup, Assassin." Assassin took a cell phone from his breast pocket and dialled a number as Cecile straightened her posture, ready for the next onslaught. Assassin placed his phone to his ear, saying nothing, and then placed it back in his pocket.

"Enough of this!" shouted Caster, firing black flame around Assassin and his Master. The pair dodged masterfully as flames landed all around them, coating the grass below them and trees behind them with black flickering fire.

"They're here!" yelled Assassin, dodging a ball a black fire. It was then that more black figures appeared between the trees and started to pour into the moonlit field of the park. There were at least fifty Suits, if not more, now entering the field.

"H-How many are there?" stammered Cecile, in shock at the sheer number of goons that had spawned from Assassin's phone call. Caster moved up to his Master's side.

"No time to waste in fear, Frau Meister," said Caster. "You are by my side, and I by yours. We shall fight back this horde and eliminate these two reprobates. Right?" He turned to his Master, his eyes showing his determination to succeed. The stalwartness of Caster flowed into Cecile and she was instantly calmed by her Servant.

_I refuse to believe violence is right,_Cecile thought. _But, I must fight for my principles! This War must end so that the killing can end! And Caster will be with me every step of the way._

"Let us fight then, Caster!" yelled Cecile, as the pair charged at Assassin and Cobb, ready to fight. Cecile could keep up with the unnatural speed of Caster with her air manipulation. However, Caster stopped short, flinging more black fire at the now charging horde of Suits, and leaving any close combat to his Master. Cecile clashed with the Suits at close range, swapping between physical blows and air blasts from her scythe.

She fought like a dance, gracefully moving from one target to another and, when distant enough from her foes, launching a blast of razor wind from her scythe. The Suits knew now to dodge the large sweeps of the scythe for more than the scythe itself, but that didn't mean all of them were agile enough. As Cecile fought, her face took on a calmness that was unbecoming of the situation.

Despite her pacifistic nature, her name among the few Magi peers she kept was 'La Mort du Danseur' or 'The Dancer of Death'. She hated that name, despite its aptness. And, against Cecile Prideaux's dance of death, the goons of Assassin could not last long. Even with the very presence of Assassin, they could not muster enough skill to defeat her.

Whenever a Suit got too close to Cecile while she was dealing with another, Caster would blast them with a shot of black flame. In addition, he used his other hand to fling fire all around the grounds of the park near the horde of Suits, lighting the ground with black flame in patches everywhere around the fighting horde of Suits.

"I don't know what you're doing," said Cobb, making a motion to his Servant to stay put. "But, it's going to stop." He moved to the side of the horde of Suits fighting Cecile, and nonchalantly raised his arm to the now visible Caster and fired a Gandr shot to disrupt his constant rain of fire. Cobb was unaware of Caster's intentions of covering the field in fire, but he didn't need to know that to know it wouldn't result in anything good for him.

"ANSTEIGEN!" yelled Caster as the Gandr shot flew at his face. A black shadow with bright red eyes appeared for a split second in front of the Gandr shot and absorbed it then disappeared just as fast as it formed. The magic Servant threw black flame at Cobb, as he dived back behind the wall of Suits.

"Argh!" screamed Caster after throwing the flame to ward off Assassin's Master. He fell to his knees, grasping his head in his hands, clearly in immense pain.

"Caster, NO!" shouted Cecile, still fighting the horde of Suits. She let fly with a sweep, not using the handle of the scythe, and on a fully extended arm. She immediately cut the number of suits in half with one swing, turning with the scythe to run back to Caster.

"Now?" asked Assassin, chuckling at Caster's pain. James Cobb nodded. "Alright!"

Assassin took off after Cecile, quickly catching up to the remaining Suits that numbered a mere twenty. He pulled out a letter opener from his pocket, holding it at his side as he ran. Cecile reached Caster quickly with her air spell aiding her movement and bent down to tend to her pained Servant.

"It's… happening like I said…" Caster managed between hard breaths. "I can't summon that thing… without repercussions like this." Cecile had been warned by Caster about this. His Noble Phantasm had a demanding effect on his mind, and a single use could cause pain when he fought against its negative effects if he was not prepared. "It's… ok… They are already… in the trap…"

Caster raised his hands and smashed them together in front of him, causing all hell to break loose. The black fire that had been thrown around the battlefield had formed a rough circle around the Cecile and the Suits while they fought, and at the clasping of Caster's hands they rose from their landing spots and flew at blinding speed at the group of Suits, that now included Assassin. The group of charging Suits had yet to cross the closest fire spots to Caster and Cecile and were trapped in a ring of fire that closed in on them. The flames behind Cobb within the trees, also took off towards the group of suits, the Master instinctively ducking the flame approaching his back and righting himself swiftly.

"RETURN TO ME, ASSASSIN!" screamed Cobb at Assassin, raising his hand which flashed red for a second. With the use of one of Cobb's Command Spells to save Assassin, he forced his Servant to gain immense speed to turn and run back to his Master, jumping clear over the black fire now flying towards the group of Suits that were trapped. Assassin arrived at his Master's side as the black fire reached the group of Suits.

The black fire balls burned through each Suit they came into contact with until meeting in the middle, joining together and growing to an enormous size within seconds. The huge black fire ball engulfed most of the remaining suits that were already dead or dying from the smaller fire balls before imploding and annihilating the remaining suits with a sound so loud it could be heard blocks away from the park. The force of the blast blew James Cobb off his feet, and Assassin stumbled backwards as the trees behind him strained from the sheer power of the blast. Cecile covered the still pained Caster with her body as his protests about putting her life first went unheard over the deafening sound of the implosion.

The flames cleared to reveal a massive crater where the Suits had been, the lush grass of the park grounds replaced with a cavernous hole. James Cobb got up swiftly and tried to find Cecile past the dust, dissipating flames and smoke with Assassin following suit. Suddenly, a quiet voice could be heard from the other side crater from Assassin and his Master.

"Ventus… Hasta!"

A column of visibly disturbed air, no larger than a human arm, shot through the remaining dust that was floating around the crater. The dust and smoke parted around the column as it shot towards the unprepared business man and his Servant. It missed Cobb, but landed a glancing blow on the side of Assassin, taking a perfectly shaped semi-circle from his left side as it passed. Assassin let out a heinous scream of pure pain, grasping his side with his left hand.

"You… BITCH!" roared the suited Servant, brandishing his letter opener in his right hand and trying to walk towards the air that was fired at him, despite his wounds. However, through the parted dust Assassin saw that both Caster and Cecile Prideaux had vanished. "FUCK!"

"Calm down, Assassin," said Cobb, dusting himself off. "That was unlike you. You should know a Servant just by looking at their Master or the Servant. You should have seen that move coming. Not to mention we saw that thing he summoned before this battle thanks to your Security Detail." Cobb spoke matter-of-factually, with no particular hint of anger in his voice while referring to the massive ball of black flame.

"It was reckless, I admit it," grunted Assassin through the pain of his already slowly healing wound. "But I never figured that Caster would collapse after calling that thing out. Good work getting him to do it, associate. I knew he had some kind of issue with it, but I couldn't tell if it would cripple him that much or not." He slowly started to turn ethereal so that his wounds may heal faster.

James Cobb turned on the spot and headed back into the woods, merging once again into the darkness from which he came that night.

* * *

><p>Just outside the park, a woman was running with a scythe over her shoulder at incredible speed. Cecile was shocked by the peculiar Assassin. It was unusual enough that he wielded hordes of what he called 'Security Detail', but he was a doppelganger of his Master. Even though Cecile Prideaux was not an expert on the Holy Grail War by any means, she had never heard of such an oddity occurring before. However, the unsettling condition of Caster took precedence in her mind.<p>

"I'm… alright, Frau Meister," Caster said weakly in his spiritualised form. "I must learn to deal with the influence of that monster properly. I apologise for my weakness." Cecile wasn't normally angry, but she stopped dead in her tracks running, furious.

"Materialise right now, Caster!" yelled Cecile, hands on hips as if impatient at even the almost instantaneous time it took Caster to follow her order. Caster appeared before his Master and kneeled before her.

"Yes, Frau Meister?" Caster said weakly, looking at the ground.

"Raise your head you fool! Stand up!" Cecile yelled at her Servant. He looked at his Master in shock. Never had she spoken this way in his presence. "You have nothing to be sorry for! We all have our demons. Yours are just a little stronger than others. Never apologise for anything like this again! Your past may haunt you, but this is the present. I'll have none of your self-pity on my watch." Caster was dumbstruck as he stood at his Master's command. Even knowing what he had done is his past, his Master stood by him unconditionally, going so far as to tell him off for doubting himself.

"I'm so-" began Caster before Cecile placed a finger to his lips.

"No need to apologise, either," said Cecile softly. "And, one more thing; you are to address me by my name now. We've fought together, and we may die together. You're not getting away with self-effacing excuses this time, either. If we are to stop this game of death, we need more than titles." Caster laughed as Cecile removed her finger from his lips. He hadn't laughed like this in a very long time. It was pleasing to the Servant to know he still could.

"As you command, Cecile," Caster said theatrically, bowing to her graciously. "We shall end this War as you wish. I promise you that as Johann Faust." Cecile smiled at her Servant's dedication to her. He faded back to spiritual form and Cecile took off running, back home.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as per usual! ^^

More to come, more to come!


	9. Trois

Chapter 9  
>Trois<p>

Torsten awoke to sun shining in his window. His day of rest yesterday was much needed. He still ached all around his body and his hand was still a mess, but he could use it if he had to. More importantly, his day of rest had let him contemplate his situation.

He had killed a Master in the Holy Grail War; Adelheid Rotmensen and her Servant, Archer, had been eliminated. There were now a maximum of five other Masters left. One of which was certainly Josephine Roux. Torsten had spent most of the day before alone, considering his options concerning his old friend. After sullying his hands with Adelheid and been given a lecture from Saber on his rashness in confronting her, Torsten thought it prudent to plan how to confront Roux and find out what was going on with her instead of blindly looking for information as he was doing before.

At the end of his day of deliberation he had come up with a simple conclusion: The only way to confront her would be directly. That night, he and Saber were going to hunt down Roux and her Servant to get some answers. He had yet to explain his plan to his Servant, simply going to bed after he had made up his mind, but that was no matter.

The young Master rolled himself out of bed and got ready with a shower and a change of clothes. He headed down stairs and prepared himself some breakfast. A simple toast and cereal combination was enough for him.

"Feeling better today, Master?" said Saber as he materialised next to Torsten as he put bread into his toaster.

"Sure am," replied Torsten, sounding positive. "In fact, I have a plan for tonight." Torsten poured himself his cereal and milk to tide him over until the toast was ready.

"A plan you say? Well, let's hear it," said Saber, unusually excited. He was struggling to hide the fact that Torsten taking the initiative in the War now was big thing. He had come a long way in a small amount of time.

"It's about Roux, to be honest," the young Master began after a spoon full of cereal. "I can let go of what's happened to her. I just can't. Asking Father Chevalier didn't help at all and only raised more question about the Holy Grail War itself. So, I propose that we try and find Roux. Tonight." He stopped displacing cereal from bowl to mouth to observe Saber's reaction. Saber looked surprised. In fact, he looked much more surprised than Torsten expected him to.

"So, you want us tae confront Roux directly?" asked Saber, trying to grasp the idea that he never thought would come from Torsten. The toast popped out the toaster with a metallic springing noise.

"Exactly," the young Master said, grabbing the toast and placing it on a ready plate. "I know Josephine Roux. That was not how she used to be, and I refuse to believe those were her true colours now. There is something wrong with her. I want to find out what. The only way I can think of doing that, however, is to confront her in person."

"I cannae say I disagree with your reasoning," said Saber, genuinely impressed by his Master's logic. "But, what if this is who she is now? We may have tae fight her ye know? And if we confront her and she won't listen tae ye, what will you dae?" Torsten closed his eyes at these questions. They had tortured him the day before. What if Roux had really changed? What if they _had_ to fight?

"That's simple, Saber. If she has indeed changed, if we do indeed need to fight, then we'll just have to do what's needed." Torsten spoke solemnly but calmly. Saber just looked at his Master, part happy for his new found strength and part discouraged by the path that the boy was forced to take.

"However!" suddenly said Torsten loudly, turning to face his Servant. "I don't believe that will be necessary because, well, I believe in Roux." He spoke with warmth and a smile.

"Is that so?" Saber asked, reflecting back Torsten's smile. "In that case, I can believe in her too, Master." Saber placed a hand on Torsten's shoulder for a moment. It was then that Torsten remember something he'd meant to mention to Saber since the day before.

"Thanks, Saber," said Torsten. "And thanks for calling me Master now. It means a lot." He turned back to his toast to eat it before it went cold and finish off his cereal. He'd noticed that Saber had started calling him Master since the fight with Adelheid. It was a small thing really, but it made Torsten feel much better. It made him feel like the Master he was trying to be. Saber simply smiled and vanished, leaving Torsten to prepare himself for tonight's plan.

* * *

><p>It was about 8pm when Breno da Rocha walked into the living room of his hotel room to find Rider sitting like a King awaiting a serf, draped over a luxurious black leather couch. As much as the Spaniard was sick of his Servant's arrogant and infuriating moods, he felt a strange compulsion to do as his Servant willed. A nagging thought at the back of his mind implored that his Servant knew best. This was no normal feeling, however. It was brought about by the true identity of Da Rocha's Servant, and the power he held in his original life.<p>

"So are we going to chase after Roux tonight?" asked Da Rocha as he entered the room, sitting in a chair next to the couch. "I don't like sitting around here when I could be out there hunting her down…" Rider ignored his Master's words, taking a grape from a plate on a coffee table beside the couch and eating it.

The grudge between Breno da Rocha and Josephine Roux was of little concern to Rider. It was a pithy argument stretching over generations between two Magi families. It only functioned as a tool of control over his Master, augmenting his innate essence of command. He was Ramesses II, Pharaoh of Egypt, after all. All who surrounded him were his subjects, and all who didn't oppose him could be influenced by his sheer power. This included his Master.

"Answer me, Rider," barked Da Rocha, growing impatient. The Golden Servant had noticed his Master was growing more insubordinate of late. "I tire of your lackadaisical attitude towards my goal." Rider froze, an entire bunch grapes hanging above his mouth, and turned to face his Master.

"Perhaps we can venture out tonight," said the Golden Servant, his voice cold. "If I feel up to it later. We may run into that bastard tin man too, I suppose." Rider proceeded to eat a grape from the bunch he was dangling and placed it back on the table, and sat upright on the couch.

"'Perhaps' isn't going to cut it, Rider," Da Rocha said quietly. He had been suspecting his Servant had been toying with him somewhat since the beginning. It was a certain naivety and a feeling the back of his mind that seemed to urge him to trust and follow his Servant's suggestions. However, his lack of progress in cornering Josephine Roux was becoming frustrating, and enough to push him over the edge.

"And a comeback like that isn't going to get you anywhere," the Golden Servant said, as if reprimanding a disobedient child. It was then that Breno da Rocha snapped. There was no clear warning at all, but if Rider had truly paid attention to his Master, he would have noticed his clenched fists and a tightening of the neck before his own little comeback.

Da Rocha lashed out at his Servant, jumping from his chair, grabbing Rider by the neck and forcing him into the back of the couch. The surprise that Rider felt was quickly eclipsed by rage at this mere peon's traitorous behaviour. However, before he could even yell, never mind counter this assault, Breno da Rocha raised his free hand to Rider's face, the hand with his Command Spells, and spoke first.

"I command you to accompany me in the hunt for Josephine Roux without question," the Spaniard Master said slowly but steadily. His Command Spells illuminated on his hand, lighting up Rider's face in red, his face twisted in hatred for his own Master. The light faded from Da Rocha's hand and with it part of his Command Spell that was engraved on his hand. With this command, Rider's obedience was assured for a least a single night's hunting. That was enough for the Spaniard. The message he was in charge now should get through.

"Bastard…!" hissed Rider through clenched teeth as his Master released his grip on his throat. Da Rocha stood up and moved to the door of the Hotel apartment. He grabbed a suit jacket on the way and paused at the door when Rider did not immediately follow.

"Come, Rider," he said, facing the door with his hand on the knob. Rider tried to mentally resist the command, but the Command Spell used on him caused him great pain in his efforts to disobey. As such, Rider slowly raised himself from the couch and walked to his Master, spiritualising fully by the time he reached the door. His last expression was one of pure contempt.

With that, Breno left the Hotel room. Tonight's hunt for Josephine Roux had begun.

* * *

><p>It was nearly 1am when Josephine Roux checked her watch. It was cold and the streets were nearly deserted. She was dressed appropriately for the chilling weather, wearing a long deep red skirt and fitted white dress shirt under a large winter coat. She was nearing the Parc de la Tete d'Or that lay near the banks of the Rhone. So far, she had found no Masters or Servants, but she had been keeping up with the news and knew of a toppled van and destroyed car close to the metropolitan area and of a strange crater in the Parc de la Feyssine. Not to mention the murders that were disturbingly numerous then suddenly stopped. The War was clearly in full swing.<p>

"Shall we investigate the park, Master?" asked Lancer in her spiritual form.

"Seems like a good idea. If there was that crater in Parc de la Feyssine, who knows what we could find right, Lancer?" Roux joked with her Servant out loud. Luckily there was no one around to hear but her ethereal Servant. Roux made her way down the block, closing in on the Parc de la Tete d'Or.

It took a mere five minutes to reach the rather large park. Roux had been there before. It was very large park and, like the Parc de la Feyssine, had numerous facilities and a varied terrain. Of note, the Parc de la Tete d'Or was also home to a moderately sized lake to its north, multiple greenhouses and even a Zoo.

Roux entered from a southern entrance of the park and proceeded to follow the paths ways. She kept silent and on guard as she traversed the empty park, especially through the southern section of the park that was composed of a flat open grass section; a possible spot for an ambush.

It was when Roux was halfway across the path at the edge of the open field that she froze, dead on the spot. She could feel the presence of something. It was faint at first but growing stronger.

"Master!" shouted Lancer, getting the same feeling. Lancer materialised quickly, ready to protect her Master to the death. She had no weapon in her hands, but an ornate silver buckler was strapped to her left arm, and her armour was a beautiful combination of a silver breast plate with a chainmail skirt that had a full cut out at the front, revealing black leggings that stopped halfway up the thigh. "Stand behind me!"

Roux did as her Servant asked, and closed her eyes for a few seconds of precious mental preparation. She was one the most powerful Magi the Roux family had produced in over two centuries, but she was still unknown to the way of combat outside of her regular sparring and training that she undertook in the United States.

_Breath in… Breath out…_ she repeated in her mind, focusing all her mind on staying calm. _If I lose my cool, it's all over._ She had trained for this, honed her unique skills every day, yet she still felt the nervousness of a beginner. It annoyed her, but it was to be expected. It wasn't the main problem right now, for she saw two flames illuminate in the distance as she opened her eyes. They went out quickly, then reilluminated closer. They continued in this pattern, acting as an ominous warning of new foe.

"I was hoping they wouldn't have someone in the War…" said Roux to herself more than to Lancer. "The Da Rocha's just cannot let it go!" Roux had told Lancer about the relationship the Roux and Da Rocha Magi families had. It was one of constant competition and bloodshed. The Da Rocha family tried, long ago, to spread its influence out of the Iberian Peninsula into France. The Roux family, however, forever stood in their way and shared a friendly relationship with the Amsel family at the same time. It was simply impossible for the family to extend any further, and the Magus Association clamped down hard on their constant attempts to reignite this old feud.

It was safe to say that the flames' source were that of the Da Rocha speciality in the manipulation of fire and barriers. It was also safe to say that this opponent would likely have a severe grudge against Roux.

_Someone isn't going to leave this place…_ surmised Roux. _Not without being loaded into a body bag in any case._ The flames kept lighting and dimming, getting closer each time, the source of the flames becoming more apparent. It was man, probably just about Roux's age or older, and the flames were coming from his hands. It was clear that he meant business. He gave up the opportunity for an ambush with this power display. Next to this man was a half naked man, wearing an ornate headdress and formal robe like skirt. _Clearly, the Servant is the one with the headdress… And it's clear he is from Egypt, with that outfit._

"Lancer, be on your guard. This is not an opponent to underestimate," whispered Roux to her stalwart Servant. The pair was barely fifty metres away now and closing slowly.

"Greetings on this lovely night, my Lady of the Roux household," shouted the Master wielding flames. "My name is Breno da Rocha, Master of Rider. I'm sure you know what that means, Josephine Roux." Certain smugness was easily apparent in his voice.

Da Rocha was indeed pleased he had finally found his prey. Rider had been a pain, but now that he found his target there was no need to bend to the will of his Servant. He was sure that Rider actually had been manipulating him a way more powerful than simply abusing his desire to eliminate Josephine Roux, but he'd deal with that later. Tonight, he had family business to take care of. Da Rocha stopped about twenty five metres from Josephine Roux and the female Servant that stood in front of her. He kept a flame lit on one hand however, and pocketed the other hand.

"So, there really was a Da Rocha worthy of entering the War," teased Roux. She stood and spoke confidently. If she was to battle her for the sake of this petty feud fuelled by the lust for supremacy, then she wouldn't make it easy for him to keep that cool he would need to win.

"Keep your pithy and condescending insults to yourself, Josephine Roux," spat the Spaniard in an uncharacteristic display of anger. He had been taught from an early age that the Roux family were never to be trusted, and not worthy of respect. To have a member of said family insult him so? Ridiculous.

"You finally have your prize, so calm down," muttered Rider to his Master. As much as he cared not for this feud, he knew his Master had to stay calm. "If you don't, we'll both lose to these whores." Da Rocha aimed an enraged glance in Rider's direction, knowing his Servant was right.

"Quite a mouth your Servant has there, Mr. Da Rocha!" said Roux, hearing everything that Rider had said. "You should keep that dog on a tighter leash." Roux let out a laugh at her own insults. Her Servant, however, remained perfectly still, even now no weapon held in her hands.

"I said QUIET!" bellowed Da Rocha, letting fly with a punch of his still lit hand. The flame blasted at Roux and Lancer in straight line, colliding with Lancer's shield as she batted it away. Before it could hit the ground, it dissipated. Lancer's piercing blues eyes were like daggers, piercing the skull of the one who dared attack her Master.

"Is that the best you can do?" Roux said, continuing to try and provoke the Spaniard into further stupid and rash actions. However, her last insult had the opposite effect. At least, it seemed that way at first.

Breno de Rocha pulled his other hand out his pocket and the anger on his face melted away, only to be replaced with his usual neutral demeanour. He lit both hands and gestured with his head to Rider. The Golden Servant took off running, directly and Roux and Lancer. In a split second, Lancer turned her head enough to watch both the charging Rider and her Master. Roux gave a nod to her Servant, and Lancer took off with a massive leap at Rider, taking the Golden Servant by surprise.

A weapon formed in Lancer's hand as she jumped at Rider. The Golden Servant halted his run and drew his Khopesh blade in time to catch a blow from Lancer's newly formed weapon. Rider gazed in awe at the blade that he blocked. It was an elegant sword with a thin looking blade and an ornate golden hilt adorned with blue grip wrappings.

"Who are you?" managed Rider between clenched teeth. "I've already fought Saber, and you're not him. Tell me, peon, what class are you?"Rider had to use both hands on his blade to force the pair apart.

"Why, I am Lancer, most agile of all classes," said the Blue Eyed Servant, holding her sword ready in one hand, readying her buckler with the other. "And, I am no peon." Lancer charged at Rider, her sword at the ready. Rider blocked her blow, sparks flew, and the battle between Roux and Da Rocha had begun.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

A short chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same! ^^

I should mention that, after some planning of next one, I know it's a doozy of a chapter.

You may have to wait a tad longer than usual for it's release, but I think it should be worth it! :)


	10. Le Mannequin

Chapter 10  
>Le Mannequin<p>

The two Servants clashed, sparks from their blades flying. The pair was quite evenly matched in the way of the sword. Though Lancer was the swifter of the two, Rider had an advantage in power and could effectively deflect the blows of the blonde haired Servant.

"A Lancer who fights with a sword?" Rider asked between the cacophony of metal against metal. "What are you hiding from your superiors, peon?" Rider dodged a downwards vertical slash and follow-through thrust with his Khopesh, forcing Lancer to jump back out the way. The pair of Servants proceeded to trade blows, never giving the other an inch. By this point, Da Rocha was sick of watching his Servant fight. He had a grudge to settle, after all.

"I can't stand this any longer!" shouted Da Rocha, his calm façade shattering. His entire life, he was told he was to be the successor of the Da Rocha family, and with that position, he had the duty of destroying the Roux family. He could not contain his excitement and lust for Roux's destruction now that she was within his grasp. Breno da Rocha circled the fighting Servants and got a clearer view of his prey.

Lancer noticed straight away, knocking aside a blow from Rider. "Can you take him?" she yelled to her Master. With one swift movement, Roux pulled off her coat from the shoulder and prepared to fight.

"Yes," she said, keeping her eyes on the Spaniard at all times. With that simple one-word answer, Roux's Servant could now concentrate fully on Rider, continuing her battle.

"Confident, aren't we?" Da Rocha hissed, further circling around the Servant's fight, keeping his distance from his target. He may have supreme confidence in his abilities to win, but he was not enough of a fool to think he had already won. He had very little knowledge of the powers the Magus before him wielded.

"Of course," replied Roux, turning to face the Spaniard as he circled her. Luckily for her, the Da Rocha art of flame manipulation and martial arts was well known within the Magi community. Contrary to the usual secrecy ideal of most Magi, the Da Rocha family prided itself in making its power known. Josephine Roux was well versed in what this Da Rocha family heir could wield.

Da Rocha continued circling Roux until his opponent had her back the still raging fight between Rider and Lancer. He stopped for a split second, looking at his still ignited hands, and then lunged forward at Roux. He reached full speed quickly, his arms held out at his side and streaming fire behind him. Roux held her ground and stood still, taking no defensive action. With a power bolstering shout, Da Rocha reached his target and let fly a straight at the female Master. Josephine Roux now saw fit to make her move.

With a smooth jerk of her upper body, Roux dodged the straight, millimetres before the flames licked her face. She dodged to the inside of the punch, so she was directly in front of her attacker, and gazing directly into his dumbstruck face which was almost touching her own. It was then that the young woman brought up her right arm, hand in a fist, and connected sharply with Da Rocha's chin. He staggered backwards, vision blurred, only to receive a kick to the stomach that knocked him down on his back.

Roux remained still and did not follow her opponent to the ground, instead letting him roll backwards and get up in a delirium. She would finish him with the skills she had formed and honed during her years in the United States. They need to be tested in a combat situation. This was her chance to prove those years of training were worth it.

As Da Rocha steadied himself and regained balance, he witnessed Roux still standing motionless. However, she had her eyes wide open, her left beginning to emit a faint yellow glow that was rapidly intensifying by the second, the colour saturating and become more vivid.

"Don't tell me…" hissed Da Rocha, just about ready to launch an attack to interrupt the Art she was weaving. "Mystic Eyes?" It was then, that the world dissolved into chaos.

"Greetings!" boomed a male voice from across the park. Neither Roux nor Da Rocha noticed the figure approaching their fight. He was already within two hundred metres of both fighting pairs and accompanied by a gargantuan human figure. Neither was clear in the faint light of the moon, but the large one was over six foot at least, with the other of even height with Lancer.

Roux and Da Rocha turned to face this new threat. As much as Da Rocha wanted Roux's head on a silver platter, all obstacles before that goal had to be annihilated first. What he failed to notice, that conversely Roux instantly picked up on, was that this new figure was a harbinger of doom.

"Now, now," spoke the figure again, still walking towards the pair of Masters. "Don't stop your display on _my_ account. I assure you, I wish to do nothing but observe your little struggle." The larger figure followed the source of the voice, staying completely silent.

"Who are you?" yelled Da Rocha, perturbed he had to deal with an interloper to his fight. Roux looked at the Servants that were still fighting. Their fight, however, had frozen. Both Servant's blades locked and observing the new menace that had revealed himself.

"I am known as Takeo Kinjou," boomed the voice once again. It was deep and guttural. "Since you seem more interested in my presence, how about one of you tries _me_?" He snapped his fingers as he was walking forward, still at a leisurely pace. At the sound of his fingers the large figure burst forward into a sprint towards the two Masters, pummelling the ground with massive strides of powerful feet. As the figured sprinted forward, a large wooden shield and massive spear formed in its hands. The spear was so immense it was incredible that the figure even held it up at all.

"Roux!" screamed Lancer, exerting an adrenaline surge fuelled burst of strength, dislodging Rider and turning to protect her Master. She ran full speed to her Master, as Da Rocha watched in sheer horror at the figure blasting forward at them. His vendetta addled brain, however, recognised just what the giant racing at them was.

"Rider, protect me!" Da Rocha screamed, using a second Command Spell in one night, effectively enacting a space warping teleport on Rider. Rider appeared in front his Master in a flash of blinding light, covering the large distant between them in an instant. The Servant could now protect his Master.

Roux stood perfectly still, completely frozen in her terror. It was a new sensation to her, and it completely overwhelmed her mind. It overrode the urge to run, to call on her Command Spells and to even protect herself. She knew what this behemoth was and her fear stole away all over brilliance, leaving only weakness and frailty behind.

"I should mention," said the smaller interloper, still walking towards the ensuing chaos. "That I am the Master of…"

It was exactly at that moment that Lancer reached her Master, with the behemoth soon following. Lancer could not prepare herself for what was coming next. The figure was in clear view but moved far too quickly to get a good view. It let loose with a gigantic swipe of the spear in its hand. The swipe was so wide it could hit both pairs of Master and Servants. Rider, being prepared thanks to the Command Spell, pushed himself and his Master out of the way entirely. Lancer took the blow with her buckler, unable to push her Master out of the way in time. It knocked Lancer off her feet to block the blow, and only served to slow it down partially.

Roux, in that split second before the spear continued on its path to connect with her abdomen, had one word fly through her mind.

"Berserker."  
><em>Berserker.<em>

The swing was made so close to Roux that only the shaft of the spear hit her. That, however, did not prevent the violent collision that was assured. Her head jerked as the spear lifted her from the ground, flinging her like a ragdoll through the air. She flew a full ten metres before landing and rolling violently across the grassy field. She was out cold before even hitting the ground, limp like a rag doll as she flew through the air.

Lancer saw everything in slow motion: The spear connecting with her buckler, only to continue past her body as she fell and connecting with her Master. She gazed at her unconscious Master for what seemed like hours, dread encroaching upon her mind. She slowly raised herself from the ground, oblivious to all but herself and her fallen Master. Lancer's mind screamed at her, replaying what just happened repeatedly only serving to torture her.

_Master… Master… Roux!_ _I've failed. Roux. No. How? What? Dead? Why? My fault… _

It was then that an emotion that Lancer had not felt in a very long time took hold of her. It twisted her insides, shredded her mind and stole away all logical thought that she could muster to combat it. It was pure and total rage.

"You will _pay!_" screamed Lancer at the top of her lungs, turning to face the behemoth that had dared touch her Master. Time still felt slowed and sluggish as she gazed upon the giant before her. It was a woman with long red hair that reached her feet and was completely untamed. She wore a large plain dress, and a golden and ornate torque around her neck. Her face was blank. There was no feeling or emotion that could be detected from her features. She was like a doll remained perfectly silent.

Lancer raised her blade and struck at Berserker, only to have the blow blocked by the behemoth's shield. Lancer had lost all rational thought by this point, succumbing to the despair and rage that was now focused into destroying Berserker. Her face was so contorted in rage that her beauty was marred completely as she started launch blow after blow with her sword at Berserker.

The red haired behemoth absorbed each blow well with the wooden shield, waiting for a chance to strike between Lancer's rough and ungraceful blows. It was unnaturally easy thanks to Lancer's blinding rage to find said opening. Berserker launched a thrust with her mighty spear at her opponent's head, only to have Lancer jump up out of the way. Landing gracefully along the spear's shaft, Lancer balanced on her toes within her steel armour boots and lunged at Berserker's head. Berserker blocked with her shield and Lancer flipped over the behemoth landing behind the red-haired beast.

Lancer's impatience in landing a clean blow gave way to a frenzied idea. She clenched her fist hard around her sword, and charged at the turning Berserker. The red-haired Servant turned fast enough to block a vertical strike with her shield. At that moment, the Lancer poured as much prana as she could into her blade.

"Gram: Broken Phantasm!"

Lancer's blade, Gram, started to shine bright and within less than a second, cracks formed on its surface. Light poured out of the fissures until, suddenly, the sword exploded in a burst of heat and light. Lancer was blown off her feet at the activation of her own Broken Phantasm and landed in a heap, the Master of Berserker striding past her collapsed form, stopping just beyond her feet. His eyes never even strayed to the Servant that lay near him. Instead, they stayed fixed on Berserker who was shrouded in thick smoke from the cataclysmic destruction of Gram.

Lancer tried to get a look at the dissected Berserker but, as the smoke cleared, she was met with a horrifying vision. Berserker's shield was burnt and its wooden structure partially splintered, but it had endured the explosion. Berserker stood straight and observed the damage done to her shield, emotionless. She then looked at her Master, who gave her a nod. Berserker lumbered forward, towards the floored Lancer.

_It's… over… I'm so sorry Roux…_

Lancer turned her head to look at her collapsed Master, one last time. It was then that she saw another pair of people. Far in the distance, just within the entrance of the park, the pair was charging at full speed towards the chaos that had unfolded, but the downed Servant could not recognise who they were. They would reach Roux first.

Tears filled Lancer's eyes as all hope was lost to her.

"I'm so very sorry… Forgive me," Lancer whispered, closing her eyes in preparation for the end.

* * *

><p>It was about 1:27am when Torsten Amsel heard a cacophony of noise and screaming from the Parc de la Tete d'Or. He had been scouring the city in the hopes of finding Josephine Roux and had made no progress. Despite his lack of success, he was determined to find her. He was a mere hundred metres away from the park entrance when he heard the commotion. He broke into a run, and thanks to the empty streets, Saber materialised mid-run beside him.<p>

"This time, we need a plan," said Saber, having to slow down a bit to not overshoot his Master. "We cannae run in blindly, especially since we're crashing someone else's party." Torsten knew his Servant was right. They'd have to get into a position where they could tell what was going on and strike from there.

"Ok," said Torsten between ragged breaths. "We get to the entrance and make sure it's not booby trapped. Then we can see what is happening. Sound good to you?" He turned and smiled at Saber.

"Sounds grand, Master," agreed Saber, as they arrived at the park entrance. Torsten took the opportunity to check for any obvious Boundaries or traps. The park may have been a set up position for whatever was going on in there. It was while Torsten was checking the concrete threshold of the park when he was blinded and deafened.

A burst of light and sound came from the park and took Torsten by complete surprise. The light faded quickly, but the ringing in the young Master's ears would not cease right away. Saber helped his Master up from the ground.

"This is bad," the Scottish Servant said, materialising his sword. "We may have tae drop the whole 'plan' thing, lad." Saber stared right into the park, dread spreading across his face. Torsten followed his Servant's gaze, but his eyesight was not good enough to see that far in the park accurately. He could see multiple figures, but no detail in any of them.

"What? What is it?" asked Torsten. He had an idea what was going on, and was hoping Saber could tell him he was wrong. Saber's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of something in particular in the park. The Scottish Servant closed his eyes tight for a moment then turned to his Master.

"Must ye see Roux? Yes or no?" Saber asked quickly. He had the most serious expression that Torsten had ever seen. He knew what was happening now. Roux was being beaten. Badly.

"Yes,"

"Then, ye want us tae save her? An opponent? A woman who threatened tae kill you?"

"Yes,"

"As you wish, Master," acknowledged Saber, closing his eyes and smiling for a split second. Torsten was puzzled, but as Saber took off into the park, the young Master had no choice but to follow.

* * *

><p>Da Rocha looked on in utter disbelief as Lancer was catapulted from Berserker after destroying her own Noble Phantasm. The Spaniard never expected to see a Broken Phantasm in this War, nor did he expect Berserker to be so powerful. His prize had just been stolen from him to make things worse.<p>

It was when Berserker emerged from the clearing smoke of the Broken Phantasm that Da Rocha truly understood how much danger he was in. A Broken Phantasm would upgrade the power of a Servant's Noble Phantasm for a single strike at the cost of the Noble Phantasm itself. It was a risky move, and one made by pure blind rage on Lancer's behalf. Regardless, it didn't work even using the mighty Gram as the sacrificial Noble Phantasm.

Berserker started to walk towards the floored Lancer. It was then that Da Rocha, facing towards the entrance f the park, noticed two figures charging into the field of the park with increasing speed.

"Them!" shouted Rider. "It's Saber and his pathetic Master!" Da Rocha looked at the oncoming two, studying the two figures as they closed in on the scene of chaos.

* * *

><p>Torsten ran as fast as humanly could, running faster than he though he ever could. He started to see the scene in the park clearly, noticing the body lying nearest Saber and him. He also recognised the Golden Servant he had seen earlier and what appeared to be his Master. What really shocked him was the lumbering giant closing on the collapsed Lancer and the man standing at her feet.<p>

His view switched from each one over and over until he realised who the body was closest to him.

_Roux… NO!_

"Saber, take care of the others," he said while pumping his legs as hard as he could. "I have to take care of Roux." Saber gave Torsten a concerned look. He doubted they could escape this situation without being put at a disadvantage. The large figure was clearly Berserker or Lancer, the Golden Servant was present and Roux looked almost dead. Not to mention they were saving an enemy.

"Aye, Master," the Scottish Servant said. "You dae what ye have tae dae! One question though. I'll have tae go all out. That's ok, right?" Torsten understood the reason for such a question. Saber using his full powers could be a massive risk identity-wise. He could be compromised immediately.

"Do whatever you have to," Torsten said. "Just... Don't let them get me. And try and not mess with Roux's Servant if you can." He didn't need to aggravate a possibly dying Servant, not to mention a Servant with which they have no grudge.

They were metres from Roux now. As they passed her, Saber sped up to inhuman levels to reach Berserker while Torsten stopped to tend to Roux. The young Master checked Roux's pulse. She was alive, thankfully, but completely unconscious. There was a red stain of blood on her white shirt. He'd have to check it later. Right now, they needed to escape.

Saber dashed at the lumbering giant. It reached Roux's Servant just as Saber reached it, the man near the floored Servant smiling inanely, simply observing the chaos transpiring before him. The giant seemed to ignore Saber's approach, lifting its spear high to skewer the downed Servant. Saber made it just in time to collide into the giant, knocking it off balance.

"Wonderful!" laughed the man. "Who knew Berserker could actually get dislodged like that? I need to work on that with her, it seems." He simply stood by Roux's Servant laughing as Saber reached him. The Scottish Servant looked down at Roux's Servant. She was breathing, tear streaks running down her face. She was alive.

_Now… Is that a good thing or not?_ Saber asked himself. Now that Berserker had been put off balance, Saber took advantage of the enemy Masters and Servants all being to his front. A small gap of about five metres split the two groups of Masters and Servants. It was enough for Saber.

"I cannae believe I'm doin' this," he muttered to himself before flipping his sword in his hands, and plunging it into the ground. He laid both hands on top of the hilt and recited the incantation that would allow for their escape.

"Árd Stirling Drochaid!"

In brilliant flash, the normally casually clothed Saber was resplendent in a full set of Medieval armour. Part chainmail with a full breastplate, it was armour worthy of a General on the battlefield. The Master of Berserker let out a whistle in amazement, while Berserker herself turned to face her new foe.

"Form ranks! Gaedas Mùr!" shouted the armoured Saber, pulling his sword from the ground with a single hand and picking up Lancer with the other in a single quick movement. He then turned his back on Berserker and the others and proceeded to return to his Master's side. As he walked away, Berserker attempted to follow, only to be confronted with a forming wall of spears that were materialising behind Saber, starting with the vicious spear points. The wall finished its creation, forming an army of unthinking, unmoveable soldiers holding pikes in a huge barrier; an impassable creation of a great general.

"Stirling Bridge… A pike wall… All in Gaelic," Da Rocha said to himself. Rider just looked on, enraged at his interrupted fight and the lack of attention directed at him.

Berserker's Master just smiled a snide smile, taking in the scene before him. Berserker however, tried to walk down the line of pikemen to get around the solider that composed it, only to find that it just grew larger and larger no matter what direction you went in. You could move faster than sound and the wall would block you from going around.

"Nice move, Guardian of the Kingdom of Scotland," said Berserker's Master, clicking his fingers. Berserker immediately returned to his side, and they turned to face Breno da Rocha and his Servant, Rider.

* * *

><p>Torsten watched on in amazement at Saber's Noble Phantasm. It was an awesome sight to behold. The wall of soldiers was totally unmoving, and Saber's armour was amazing in and of itself. 'Árd Stirling Drochaid' is what Saber said. Torsten quickly realised just who was the Servant he had summoned in the Holy Grail War. He was William Wallace, a hero of Scotland who was given the title 'Guardian of the Kingdom of Scotland' as Berserker's Master had worked out.<p>

_I summoned him?_ was all Torsten's nerve wracked brain could muster. He was torn between amazement at his own Servant and his growing concerns for Roux. She needed to be moved somewhere safe as quickly as possible. She was alive, but Torsten was worried she could be hurt far more than it appeared. It was then that Saber arrived next to the young Master, Roux's Servant barely conscious in his arms.

"We have to move quickly, Master," Saber said, trying to bring the Servant in his arms to her sense with a gentle shaking. "Is she alive?" Saber gestured to Roux, still lying on the ground.

"She is but, I'm not sure what to do." He looked at Roux's Servant who was starting to stir, her eyelids fluttering open. Upon laying eyes on the one who held her, she lashed out and tried to escape Saber's grasp.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, smacking Saber square in the face with her fist. Saber dropped her and she landed cat-like on the ground. She was about to deliver a bone shattering kick to Torsten, to eliminate him from Roux's side, when Saber wrapped an arm around her and spoke directly into her ear.

"We're on your side!" he said, trying to calm her and restrain the urge to yell. "Let us try and get your Master out o' here, alright?" Roux's Servant tried to wrestle free for a second or two more until Saber's words sunk in, her thrashing coming to a stop.

"You're really here to help?" she asked, Saber letting go since she stopped wrestling with him. She turned to Saber for an answer.

"Yes," Torsten said, forcing her to turn back to him. "I would never hurt Roux." He stared into the piercing blue eyes of Roux's Servant. IF the truth couldn't be conveyed in words, Torsten could use his eyes. The Servant seemed to understand, loosening within Saber's grip. The Scottish Servant released her.

"My name is Lancer. You hurt her, and you can consider yourself a corpse." She vanished completely, spiritualising. Saber looked a little annoyed at the threat, but carefully picked up the unconscious Roux. Both Torsten and his Servant took off, making their way to the entrance of the park.

"Time to go, Master," Saber said. "You think we'll make it back tae the house without being seen? I don't think it'll matter anyway. A young man and a fully armoured, beastly looking guy carrying an injured girl down the streets of Lyon at 2am? Hah, not odd at all." Saber let out a laugh, and Torsten joined him. They reached the entrance of the park and kept going. It wasn't until they were a full block away that Saber's armour vanished, along with the still standing wall in the Parc de la Tete d'Or.

* * *

><p>Da Rocha knew he was in trouble. He was trapped with Berserker and her Master behind an impenetrable wall of pikes. With Berserker and her Master nearest the wall the Spaniard wasn't at a total disadvantage. However, boiling within the Master of Rider was hatred, pure and raw. Josephine Roux had escaped his grasp.<p>

_They will pay,_ _they will pay dearly._

"Well, that was intriguing indeed," said the Master of Berserker suddenly. "I didn't mean to break up that little tete-a-tete there. For that, I apologise. However, you really should have just ignored me and continued your fight." Da Rocha and Rider got a good look at Takeo Kinjou now that he had restrained his beast of a Servant. He was dressed in a long black coat that was fastened from the collar down to just above the waist, allowing the hilt of a sword poke through. The blade was clearly of Japanese origin, with a wrapped grip and ornate tsuba. His face was hard, weathered and he was clearly of Asian appearance. Judging from his name, Da Rocha surmised Takeo Kinjou was most likely Japanese.

"Why did you interrupt our fight?" asked the Spaniard, the waver in his voice in direct contradiction to the anger fuelling his words. "I had her… I had her! She was right there and you had to ruin everything!" Da Rocha lost his cool and started shouting, the fear in his voice dissipating only to be replaced with raw fury. Rider, knowing his Master couldn't lose it now, tried to calm him.

"Calm down!" the Golden Servant yelled over his shoulder to his Master. "We can find that bitch again; right now I need you to think straight, fool! If you don't, I could get killed." Da Rocha placed a hand on Rider's shoulder and clenched tightly.

"Rider," began the Spaniard softly, as if comforting his Servant ."SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Rider's face filled with malice as he looked over his shoulder at his Master. Da Rocha looked crazed and confused, the loss of Roux taking its toll on his psyche.

_This man's obsession could lead to my death,_ Rider thought, his own anger growing. _Why do I have to be paired with such a pathetic peon such as him?_

"Oooo," taunted Takeo Kinjou, deciding to interrupt the spat between Master and Servant. "It seems I've found a pair with severe issues, huh? A shame. Not a good indication of good teamwork or skills. I see this fight will be as dry and boring as the fight with those goons." He let out a snide laugh and that was the last straw for Da Rocha.

"Rider, destroy that beast of a Servant," the Spaniard hissed, igniting his hands. "I'll take care of the Master." Takeo Kinjou smirked at the remark and clicked his fingers. Berserker suddenly snapped out of her neutral state and charged at Rider, gigantic spear and shield at the ready. Rider dodged to the left and Da Rocha to the right. Berserker kept her sights on Rider at all times. It seemed she was only targeting the Servant at the behest of her Master. Rider ran deeper into the field of the park, trying to create some space to fight effectively while Berserker pursued him.

Da Rocha immediately charged at Takeo Kinjou, stopping two metres short of being within direct contact range and launched both fists out at once, flames blasting forward directly at the Master of Berserker. With a smug smile he narrowly dodged the blasts of flame, rolling forward underneath them and drawing his sword as he stood. The flames were about to hit the wall of pikemen when the wall itself started to evaporate and vanish, letting the flames continue on their path and ebb away before landing. Saber's Noble Phantasm had run it's course.

Kinjou lunged at Da Rocha, sword drawn, ready to satiate his primal lust for battle.

* * *

><p>Berserker chased after the Golden Servant as he ran deeper into the park. No thoughts swirled within the mind of Berserker as she chased her prey. She barely thought on what she was actually doing, in fact. She was mindless, like a puppet, and her Master was the one pulling the strings. She had only uttered a single word since she was summoned, and she said it only once.<p>

_Master._

Rider's mind, on the other, was filled with many thoughts. There was anger at both his Master and his opponent and his usual supreme confidence. However, there was another little thing floating around in his head, gnawing at his mind. It was a feeling he hadn't felt for a very long time, just like Lancer. It was the feeling of fear.

Rider stopped dead and spun around. He was now on the other side of the large field within the Parc de la Tete d'Or and Berserker was close behind him. As much as he had seen her strength only moments ago, he needed some firsthand experience to really gauge an appropriate strategy. Berserker picked up in speed at the sight of her halted prey, jumping into the air when within ten metres of the Golden Servant.

"What the-"

Rider rolled out the way as the huge spear of Berserker slammed into the ground, a burst of Earth erupting where it fell. The cloud of dust enveloped Berserker and hid her from Rider's eyes. Suddenly, the behemoth's spear burst through the veil of debris directly at the Golden Servant's head. He barely avoided the spear, the edge of its roughly bladed point grazing his cheek as he stumbled to the side. It was then that the Golden Servant saw within the thinning dust cloud just how powerful Berserker was. Where Rider had stood only a few seconds before was a large crater where the spear of Berserker had connected with the Earth. If Rider had tried to guard, he may not have lived. "Monster…"

"…"

Berserker was completely silent as the dust cleared. In fact, she had stayed silent for the entire time she was present. While it's not unusual that a Berserker cannot speak rationally, it is unusual that they make no sound at all. Berserker had not even grunted, and her facial expression had barely moved from its neutral state either. She slowed turned to face the unsettled Rider and waited for the Golden Servant to make a move.

"Hah," Rider scoffed, raising his sword in the air above his head with the blade pointed down. "I can't believe a pathetic animal like you requires my Noble Phantasm to finish." He threw his blade into the ground, jumping backwards at the same time. The regal Chariot of Khadesh formed once again in all its glory, Rider quickly taking the reigns as Berserker watched on blankly.

"Chariot of Khadesh!" the Golden Servant bellowed, forming his bow in one hand and gazing down upon his foe like she was an ant that had crossed his path. Berserker stared at the great vehicle from history before her, before raising her spear and shield above her head and smashing them together. It created a cacophony that seemed to sound like more than just one person bashing shield and spear. As if, there was an entire army behind the behemoth, clashing shields and spears with their general on the battlefield.

Rider watched on in horror as the noise gave way to Berserker's true power. The Earth below Berserker suddenly shuddered and launched upwards, taking the behemoth with it. A huge block of Earth now stood before Rider and his Chariot, with Berserker perched on top and towering over the Golden Servant. The block of dirt began to crumble, revealing a large grey wooden structure. It soon became apparent to Rider just what it was as the Earth directly beneath Berserker collapse and she fell into the seat of her own weapon of war.

"No…" said Rider, his face filling with dread. "This is… How?" Rider was dumbstruck at the sight before him. Berserker had summoned her own vehicle with which to match Rider. Berserker had summoned a Chariot.

* * *

><p>The gash on Da Rocha's side was deep. He'd gotten struck by the first swing of Takeo Kinjou's blade, barely moving enough to avoid a fatal blow. He'd been able to avoid the rest of the swings of Kinjou's blade, but he capacity to counterattack was diminished.<p>

_I need to get on the offensive!_ His mind screamed.

"What an intriguing use of flames," remarked Takeo Kinjou, his smug smile destroying the complimentary value of his own statement. He held his blade in a single hand. This was not particularly common for Japanese sword styles, but it had been proving effective. He would juggle the sword between hands as a form of distraction, allowing for an opportunity strike. "You need to get more aggressive though. Come on! Those flames were made to inflict pain, correct? Let them do what they were formed to do. Give me pain boy, give me pain!" He raised his sword to his face and licked it up the blade. The very sight sickened the Spaniard, but he fought the urge to wince. He couldn't show weakness to a madman's tics.

_Another foul beast,_ Da Rocha thought to himself. _But he's actually right. I need to get aggressive. _

"Very well," Da Rocha said, igniting his arms up the elbow. Throwing flames was not a good idea as the Master of Berserker was swift enough to dodge them. Close quarters combat seemed like the only option.

The Spaniard charged the swordsman, arms out at his sides, trailing fire behind him. Kinjou dodged to the side, avoiding a flaming straight. He brought up his sword to strike at Da Rocha's outstretched arm as the Spaniard's other hand flew at his face. Kinjou was forced to jump back. He flicked his sword out for good measure, nicking the palm of Da Rocha's hand. The Spaniard withdrew it with a flinch of pain and turned to attack his opponent once again.

Kinjou let out a derisive 'tsk, tsk' as Da Rocha quickly closed in on the swordsman. He dodged a left hook with a quick ducking motion. The swordsman made no effort to fight back, avoiding blows and moving backwards.

"Your form is rather… sloppy," Kinjou taunted, backpedalling as if dodging Da Rocha's blows were a simple matter. The Spaniard's rage was beginning to seriously affect his fighting prowess. The goading was empowering the already serious anger burning within him at losing Roux, and he was throwing wilder and wilder punches to release his frustrations instead of to dispatch his foe. "Perhaps…" Takeo halted as he spoke, opening himself to a hook from the left. Da Rocha didn't hesitate to deal the blow.

Da Rocha felt the feeling of impact against his fist. When he focused on Takeo's face, however, there was no flaming fist buried into it. Instead, there was only a confident smirk. The Spaniard slowly followed his arm from his shoulder to hand with his eyes, his heart tightening in his chest. He finally reached his fist only to find that the large hand of Kinjou was wrapped around it, his flesh burning as the flames flickered and danced around the clamped hands.

"Oh, I see," Kinjou remarked casually. "You're pissed that girl got away, huh? That's it, right? Well, to be honest, it looked more like she had you rather then you had her when I got there… Maybe you should be angrier with, I don't know, yourself?" Kinjou smiled wide, his teeth were yellow and repulsive. Da Rocha snapped and was about to land a blow when a flash of steel caught his eye.

_SCHLUCK._

Da Rocha heard a sickeningly putrid sound. It was moist and thick. It was after the sound that he felt the warmth run down his chest, saw the red stain blossom on his shirt and observed the glistening steel blade that had pierced his right lung.

* * *

><p>Berserker's Chariot was a stark contrast to the beautifully ornate Chariot that Rider summoned. It was a rough wooden design and of an ashen gray colouring with harsh lines that gave it a sharp and deadly appearance. It was larger than Rider's Chariot, both in width and length, and the wheels were fitted with vicious spikes in the centre that sprouted from the axel. The spikes were rusted and twisted looking, adding to the terrifying appearance of this weapon of War. However, her Chariot was still without horses to pull it.<p>

The red haired behemoth had fallen from her place on top of the Earth that formed her Chariot straight into the carriage, her spear and shield vanishing. They were replaced with a large bundle of smaller javelin like spears in her left hand. With her right hand, Berserker grabbed reigns that joined to no horse. Suddenly, two black and powerful looking steeds formed as if responding to Berserker's hold of the reigns. Her face still blank, she stood in her Chariot, seemingly waiting for Rider to make his move.

_How dare this monster try to upstage me!_ Thought Rider, gritting his teeth.

"Do you intend to stand there like the pathetic doll you are?" taunted Rider, unsure if the behemoth before him even understood his speech. "Or, do I have to start us off?" Just as the Golden Servant finished his question something flew past his head, piercing his right ear. He let out a cry out pain and grabbed at the place where his ear would normally be, now replaced with a bloody and ragged lump of flesh. Berserker had thrown the spear with her left hand, the bundle of spears, it seems, stashed somewhere within her carriage.

"Pathetic monster!" screeched Rider, his horses taking off, riding straight at Berserker's Chariot. He drew back his bow as Berserker's own Chariot burst from a standing position in the direction of Rider. Just as the two war machines would crash, both moved to the side just enough to pass without touching. Everything seemed to go in slow-motion as they passed each other.

Rider aimed his bow at Berserker, and Berserker had a spear in her hand and was pulling back for a clean throw. Rider fired, the arrow blasting past the behemoth's head and cutting a swathe through her billowing red hair that flowed behind her. Berserker let loose her small spear and it hurtled straight for Rider's chest, forcing him to duck. This lapse in control of his Chariot, even just on a mental scale, made the Golden Servant keep riding straight for too long, letting Berserker turn swiftly and come from behind Rider.

"Shit!" yelled Rider as he looked back on his foe, now in the perfect position to chase him. "I'll have to lead this beast through the streets!" He turned sharply, Berserker following, and headed for the park entrance. It wasn't long before he burst over the threshold into the streets of Lyon. Berserker started to throw spear after spear at her prey, trying to skewer Rider as he galloped ahead of her. She had no benefit of mental control of her war machine, relying instead on the strength of her left arm and natural warrior talent to command her Chariot.

The thunderous sound of hooves and wheels echoed down the night time streets as the death race progressed further from the park. Rider, using pure concentration to control his Chariot turned and readied his bow, aiming directly at Berserker.

"Feel the sting of my arrow," the Golden Servant hissed under his breath. He fired, causing Berserker to dodge to the side with the entire Chariot, the spikes on her wheels breaching the edge of the street reserved for parked cars. Her Chariot soon met with a car, the twisted blades on her wheels tearing through its side and demolishing it with sickening crunches of metal and glass. It didn't slow the Chariot at all, and neither did the other three cars she tore apart. Rider kept up the attack, firing arrow after arrow at his hunter turning her into the hunted.

Berserker dodged effectively, completely avoiding all arrows fired at her. Rider grew impatient and started sacrificing aim for pure volume, firing arrows at a blindingly fast speed. Each missed arrow blasted into the pavement, struck cars and left a trail of destruction in the wake of the Chariots. The behemoth had given up firing by now, sticking with a firmer control of her war machine.

It was then Rider noticed something on her face. She usually had a neutral expression on all the time, but now her eyes were wide and almost jittery. Her eyes shook back and forth in their sockets and the Golden Servant was having a hard time telling if it was simply he was simply seeing things. However, at the next intersection, Berserker made a jarring sharp turn into the right street, leaving Rider galloping down the street alone.

_What… What is this?_ Rider questioned in his mind, confused. _The beast gave up?_ He had noticed a clear increase in her speed as she took off down the road too. A burst of speed that he doubted even his Chariot could match. He would never admit that, however.

As Rider considered what to do he passed the next intersection and, out of the corner of his eye, spotted a large and imposing shape approaching from the right. He turned and saw it was Berserker, both hands at the reigns and riding at lightning speed. She was moving so fast, they were about to collide. Rider moved his Chariot sharply to the left, Berserker turning sharply right, barely avoiding a collision.

"What on Earth…?" screamed Rider as he realised that Berserker was now riding right next to him down the streets of Lyon. Her massive Chariot dwarfed his sleek golden ride. He turned to face Berserker only to find her face set forward. He quickly raised his bow ready to strike. As if in response to the Golden Servant's aggression, Berserker's head snapped to face Rider's. The pair locked glances as the behemoth's Chariot started moving closer to Rider's.

"Oh… NO!" bellowed Rider at the realisation of Berserker's plan. As the monstrous Chariot edged closer to the Golden Servant's dread filled Rider's heart.

_It was planned… That was why she looked crazed!_ _What manner of beast IS she?_

Finally, the vicious spikes of Berserker's war machine connected with Rider's wheels. The effect was immediate. The ornate spokes of Rider's Chariot were disintegrated violently, destroying the integrity of the wheel. An entire section catapulted off, leaving less that a whole circle of the wheel. The Chariot lurched into the sudden lack of support, stopping the wheel from turning and arresting the movement of the vehicle. Rider was catapulted off his own war machine, flying across and over the path of Berserker's own Chariot. He landed roughly on the top of a car, its top buckling under his weight and the windows blasting outwards in a shower of glass.

Rider could only let out a cry of pain as he lay on the top of the car, bent and broken. Berserker sped past for a few metres, her Chariot suddenly starting to fade into nothingness. For her part, Berserker simply landed as her carriage dissolved, skidding down the street on her rough leather footwear from sheer momentum. Rider saw it all happen from his position on the car. Saw her head turn to face him, her eyes lock with his and her first slow steps in his direction.

Rider forced himself off the car as the behemoth approached. It was sickeningly painful, with multiple broken bones and a collapsed lung hampering him. He landed in a heap next the car, scrambling to stand as Berserker came closer and closer forming her large spear only in one hand. With great pain Rider stood, drawing his Khopesh that reformed at his side per his will.

"This foul thing… will not… best me…" spluttered Rider, struggling to stand without wobbling. "I… am the Great… Ramesses II… I cannot let this… PEON DEFEAT ME!" Rider charged at Berserker, stumbling and flailing in his pain. He swung out his sword with one hand as he reached his foe.

_CRACK._

The Golden Servant's arm froze as Berserker grabbed it with her free hand, her grip like iron. She had broken his wrist by simply grasping at it and proceeded to jerk his arm so furiously and swiftly that it almost tore off at the shoulder, dislocating and tearing skin. Rider flew forward, almost blind to the pain of his shoulder, and landed directly on Berserker's spear. It pierced the middle of his chest, destroying his ribs and cleaving into the side of his heart.

Rider took a sharp breath, and looked up at his killer. Berserker was just as void as ever. There was no rage, no malice, no pity, no sadness. The doll had done as ordered and removed Rider from her Master's path.

_This is wrong… I am the Pharoah! I am the Pharoah, I am the Pharoah, I am the Pharoah, I am the Pharoah, I am the Pharoah, I am the Pharoah, I am the Pharoah, I am the Pharoah!_

"N-No…" said Rider, defiant to the end. "I CAN'T LOSE TO THIS BEAST! PEON! MONSTER!" As he screamed with all he could muster on burst lungs and borrowed time, the behemoth twisted the spear in his chest, silencing the Golden Servant once and for all as the spear's blade tore apart his heart. His eyes remained open and blood leaked from his mouth as a whirlwind of sand spread from his feet upwards, disintegrating his body. A similar effect engulfed his Chariot, destroying it. Before it finished, Berserker unceremoniously ripped the spear from Rider's corpse, tearing a large hole is his body and letting it fall. It disappeared in a storm of sand before it hit the ground.

Berserker simply started in a walk to the park, quickly turning into a swift run, leaving the sand that enveloped Rider to float away in the wind.

* * *

><p>The sword had pierced straight through the Spaniard. He coughed up a gout of blood from his ruptured lung, coating the hand holding the sword through his chest in crimson. Kinjou lifted a leg and kicked the Da Rocha in the chest, violently pushing the Spaniard from his blade and dropping him to the ground. Da Rocha landed hard, and immediately tried to drag himself away from his attacker, wheezing heavily. Kinjou showed little signs of trying to follow the injured Master, just smiling at his victim as he crawled away.<p>

"So, that's it?" Kinjou asked, smile still spread across his face. "Despite all that flame, you're really more flash than substance? Pity." The Japanese Master let out a sigh, and shook his head. Da Rocha couldn't tell if it was an act or he was actually serious. Such was the ambiguity of his enigmatic smile.

_I'm not done yet…_ Da Rocha reassured himself. _He burnt his hand pretty badly with that move… I can fight with a single lung if I have to. _The Spaniard got to his feet, now at least five metres from the swordsman. Kinjou clapped as his opponent stood.

"Good!" he exclaimed. "I like that fighting spirit! Don't make this last stand too boring, eh?" Kinjou then swapped his blade to his seared hand, then back. He continued this like a little game or something done as a habit, throwing it from one hand to another. Da Rocha decided not to concentrate on it.

_It's a distraction, I have to keep my wits about me…_

Da Rocha was breathing hard, and struggling to keep his vision steady. He felt a slight burning on the back of his hand, but it went largely unnoticed thanks to his concentration on his foe. He still believed he had to go on the offensive, but he had to play it safe and take a risk only when the cards were stacked in his favour.

The Spaniard lit both hands and tightened himself like a spring, preparing to launch a full on assault. Hopefully, the last attack he would have to initiate. Kinjou stopped his little tic and gripped his blade in his unburnt but bloodstained hand, holding it straight out with a fully stretched arm.

_Now._

The Spaniard charged, moving as fast as possible with the power of one lung. He ducked below the still outstretched sword of Kinjou and deliberately hesitated. The swordsman made to pull down his sword and Da Rocha rolled swiftly to dodge, pre-empting the move. Kinjou's blade hit nothing but air as Da Rocha let fly a punch from his kneeling position straight at the swordsman's torso. Kinjou swept to the side, dodging a full contact blow, but his coat connected with the flaming fist. It ignited quickly, the fabric of his coat acting as perfect fuel.

"Smooth move," cooed Kinjou, jumping away from the now focused Da Rocha. The swordsman tore away his coat, revealing that he wore no shirt underneath. He was extremely fit, with clear and defined muscle structure. What was most defining, however, was the plethora of scars and cuts that covered his body. His arms were also coated in old wounds.

_So the little fire boy has a spark of life after all, _Thought Kinjou. _Time to destroy that spark once and for all. _Kinjou, in truth, grew tired of his opponent. He was desperate for a challenge and this man was not providing enough of one. He was toying with the Master out of boredom. His boredom had reached its event horizon.

Da Rocha wasn't scared by Kinjou's imposing figure. Regardless of how the swordsman looked, he had to win. And the Spaniard knew he could win. He sprung from his crouching position at Kinjou, both hands aflame. He would try a grapple, to cause more burns on the swordsman. No matter how resistant the man was to pain, the burns themselves can be destructive enough to put a person into shock. A grapple would lock Kinjou in a continuous burning torture that surpass any resistance to pain.

Kinjou gripped his blade tightly, ready to finish his prey when something large caught his attention in his peripheral vision. As Da Rocha was about to enter range close enough to deliver a crippling grip, Kinjou held his burnt hand out to Da Rocha's face, his index finger erect. He waved it in the Spaniard's face, and his eyes looked in the direction of what he had noticed. Da Rocha, in a moment of foolishness, followed his opponent's gaze. His eyes settled upon Berserker, standing ready.

The Spaniard's eyes widened, and he looked quickly at the hand had felt a burning sensation. Hs Command Spells were greyed out, like a ruined tattoo. Upon the defeat of Rider, the spells had lost all function.

_No..._

"No…" said the Spaniard in disbelief, falling to his knees. "NO!" He repeated himself, with the second time turning to a horrific wail. The fire in his hands dissipated as he grabbed his head, tearing at his own hair, shaking around violently. "IT'S NOT FAIR! I AM OF THE DA ROCHA FAMILY! I WAS TO FIGHT THE ROUX BITCH AND WIN!"

Kinjou laughed at the tragic figure before him, raising his blade. There would be no monologue, as he grew tired of this game. In fact, he was happy Berserker arrived. It made his job easier.

"I HAVE TO KILL THE BITCH!" Da Rocha kept screaming, tears forming in his eyes out of a disturbing collision of rage and despair. "IT WAS MY JOB! I HAD HER! I HAD HER RIGHT THERE AND THEN YOU SHOWED UP!" The Spaniard looked up at his enemy with pure hatred masking his face and tears running down his cheeks. That is, until he saw the blade raised ready to strike. His face fell into a state that could be called despair. "NOOOO-"

_SCHLICK._

With one swift move, Takeo Kinjou swiped his sword across the neck of Breno da Rocha, silencing his final denial of his fate. After a few moments of complete stillness in the park, the head of the Spaniard peeled from the shoulders of the corpse it was once attached too, its face still contorted in fear.

With a satisfied grin, Takeo Kinjou retrieved his burnt coat, clicked his fingers and had Berserker follow him obediently. The pair left the park and the body of Breno da Rocha to the night of Lyon.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another pair bites the dust and all the Servants and Masters have been revealed!

I do hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! ^^

There could be delays on subsequent chapters thanks to real-life taking a turn for the busy, but I'm still writing.

I hope you tune in next time. :)


	11. Sûr

Chapter 11  
>Sûr<p>

When Saber and Torsten returned home with the unconscious Roux, time seemed to move at lightning pace. Before the young Master could think, he was up stairs and Roux was laid carefully in his bed by Saber. Lancer materialised next to the bed where Master lay, her face taut with fear. As much as Torsten knew he had to get Roux out of there, he had forgotten about her Servant and what he would do now that Roux was safe.

"She's jes' unconscious," said Saber, his voice taking on his most serious tone. "But I cannae be sure that she'll stay that way." He looked at Torsten as he spoke, placing the responsibility of further action on his shoulders.

"R-right," stammered Torsten, looking at Roux on the bed. The urgency of the situation made him immediately proceed to take Roux's shirt off the check the wound. Oddly enough, the fabric of the shirt had not torn, but there was blood. The only way Torsten saw fit to see the wound is to simply remove her shirt. Lancer shuffled a little, which the Young Master noticed in his peripheral vision. He didn't quite know why she did, but he kept unbuttoning Roux's shirt with urgency.

He finished unbuttoning, and opened her white shirt to reveal the wound on her side, among other things. Torsten couldn't help his eyes straying to the white bra she was wearing. He unintentionally froze for a second, feeling his cheeks heat up, staring at Roux's chest rise and fall with her steady breathing.

_Oh shit, what did I just do?_ he asked himself in his head, now understanding just why Lancer seemed to shuffle uncomfortably. He just opened her shirt without thinking at all. Lancer's voice broke his frozen state.

"What's wrong?"

Meanwhile, Saber was trying to hide a smirk at his Master's actions. Lancer missed this, much to Saber's relief.

"N-nothing," Torsten answered a little too quickly, tearing his eyes away from her chest and looking at her wound while coming up for an excuse for his pause. "J-just checking her breathing." At this pathetic excuse, Saber found it even harder to hide his growing smirk.

_Ugh… I should have just left it at 'nothing'…_ Torsten thought, feeling like he needed to slap himself. He settled for shaking his head to get the picture of Roux's chest out of his head and checked out her wound, situated below the bottom of the ribs. It was heavily bruised with a rough line of breached skin, but did not seem to be leaking much blood anymore. As far as Torsten could tell, it was a blunt blow that had caused it.

_That explains the lack of tearing on her shirt at least…_

"It looks like a blunt weapon did this." Torsten said, moving out the way so that Saber and Lancer could see the wound too. Saber nodded in agreement with his Master and Lancer almost pushing the pair out of the way to see for herself. She crouched on one knee at her Master's bedside.

"Just what caused her wound?" asked Saber. Lancer didn't turn from her Master, staring at her wound.

"Berserker swept her spear out," Lancer said, her voice tight and strained. "I tried to block it, but I couldn't." Lancer stopped and choked up. Torsten couldn't bear to see Lancer blame herself

"But you slowed the spear, right?" assumed Torsten, feeling compelled to comfort the guilty feeling Servant. "You definitely saved her life. If you hadn't blocked that attack, she would most definitely be dead." Saber's smirk quickly turned to a warm smile and Lancer achingly turned away from Roux to face the young Master.

Her piercing blue eyes scanned him, as if she was appraising his worth. Lancer knew she wasn't to blame deep down, but Torsten's words had turned it into the truth. The blonde Servant somehow knew that this young man could be trusted for now.

"Thank you," she said simply. Her eyes appeared watery for a second, or so Torsten thought. The young Master's face heated up for the second time that night.

"No problem?" said Torsten, almost asking instead of stating. "Well, I'll patch her up I think… There's a first aid kit in the bathroom, Saber. Do you mind getting it for me?" In hindsight, that should have been something to do right upon entering the house, but Torsten wasn't thinking straight then. He was barely thinking straight now.

Saber left Lancer and Torsten to fetch the first aid kit. While Torsten couldn't help but worry about Roux, he found himself looking at Lancer. She was still in her elegant looking armour and a beauty to behold. Torsten found it very hard to believe she was an almighty Servant. Lancer caught Torsten staring at her when his eyes rose to meet hers, staring at him. Both turned away from each other. It was a small moment of awkward silence until when Saber returned with the kit.

Torsten took it from the Scottish Servant and retrieved the disinfectant, cotton swabs and bandages from it. He thought it best to disinfect the wound; couldn't be too careful at this point. Being careful not to let his eyes stray where he felt they shouldn't, Torsten cleaned the wound of dried blood. Wrapping the bandage around the wound was a little difficult, but with Lancer helping hold Roux off the bed, he could get a full wrap around her abdomen.

"That's all that I can do sadly," said Torsten, a little annoyed at the fact he could do little else. He didn't even want to consider the fact that Roux may have further problems than were visible. Not to mention what she would be like when she awoke.

"I think it's best if we change her out of this shirt," said Lancer. "Do you have any we could use for now?" Torsten opened his closet and retrieved a plain black t-shirt. He was about to move to Roux's bedside and attempt the difficult task of further removing her shirt and putting on the new one when Lancer moved in his path.

"I think _I_ can handle this," she said, taking the shirt from Torsten's hands and indicating with her arm to leave the room. He couldn't say he disagreed now that he thought about it.

"C'mon lad," began Saber, leaving the room with his Master and closing the door behind them. "We'll wait until Lancer is ready, eh? I'm sure she needs time with her Master." Torsten nodded in agreement. The pair went downstairs and sat in the living room, leaving the television off. Saber once again appropriated the couch as Torsten took the armchair. There was a minute or two of tense silence, not unlike the kind experienced by a family waiting for a doctor to tell them about their treasured relative's condition. This silence was broken by Torsten.

"So… You're…" started the young Master before trailing off a little. He wasn't exactly sure how to broach the subject well. Under the circumstances, Torsten shouldn't have found out Saber's identity until he was ready to tell him. Forcing Saber's hand like that to save Roux was guilt enducing.

"Aye, Master," said Saber, answering immediately. It wasn't like it was a secret anymore anyway. "My true identity is that of William Wallace." The Scottish Servant said no further.

"Wow," exclaimed Torsten, still in disbelief at just who he had summoned. Torsten, like many people, only knew of William Wallace from the many legends that surrounded the man and movies. He was surprised that the legends were true about his blade and size. But it begged the question: "Wait. This is strange. Your height and huge sword are legendary! How the heck couldn't I guess who you were?" Torsten was more asking himself, but Saber obliged his Master with an answer.

"That's a wee bit complicated," Saber began, standing to draw his blade then retaking a seat on the couch again, the blade propped on his shoulder with its tip on the floor. "Y'see, I was just a warrior really. I wasnnae particularly special. Sure, I used this great thing here, but many others did tae. This blade is as plain as any other, so it's paradoxically a little special. You cannae tell who I am just by seeing this sword. I have tae call its name in an attack tae dispel the anonymity effect. The height thing? You just never made the connection there, lad." Saber smiled at that last sentence. Torsten understood why his sword was like that after he considered it. If it wasn't, he'd be such an obvious Servant. There would be absolutely no advantage of identity anonymity that way.

"I see," said Torsten. "Well… I can safely say I'm glad I'm on your side after seeing those guys you summoned." Saber laughed at his Master's comment.

"Aye, and I'm glad ye summoned me, Master," exclaimed Saber, jubilant. Torsten was a little taken aback at the idea Saber enjoyed the fact he had been summoned by an inept Magus. "You risked your life tae save someone you cared about. Someone who is your enemy. You showed a lot of courage back there and, as much as this is a tactical disaster, I wouldnae have it any other way, Master." Torsten was just about ready to thank his Servant with a croaky, borderline crying voice when he heard footsteps at the bottom of the stairs, near the entrance of the living room. The Master and Servant turned to see Lancer standing in the entrance to the living room, looking almost lost without her own Master.

"I changed her shirt," Lancer said, trying to remain as stoic as possible in the face of two people who should be her enemies. She may have some trust in the young man now, but that didn't mean he had to see her vulnerable without Roux at her side. "I shall remain at her side through the night. If anything happens, I shall call on you if I need assistance."

"I'll stay by her too!" blurted out Torsten, standing up from his chair in a clumsy haste to reach his room. He briskly walked to the door, Saber remaining seated and leaving his Master to his own devices while polishing his sword in his usual meditative manner.

"No," said Lancer sharply, blocking the young Master from exiting the living room. "She is my Master. I alone am needed to watch over her. You've done enough." She stared at the boy before her, having to look down slightly thanks to her own height. His eyes showed a determination she thought beyond the boy.

"I insist!" exclaimed Torsten, trying to get by Lancer's side. "Besides, I can go where I want in my own house." He wasn't going to give into this blonde Servant so easily. She may be the Servant of Roux, but Torsten had a friend whose life could be in danger lying in his bed right now.

"And I'm afraid that you can't go anywhere you want when it's _my_ Master that is involved," Lancer said, sounding frustrated as she moved once again to block Torsten's path. Saber continued to polish his sword with extreme care, barely paying attention to the borderline argument developing before him. The situation seemed to be rapidly spiralling into oblivion, the air growing thick with pure tension between the young man and the mighty Servant.

"Lancer," said the young Master brusquely, stopping all attempts to exit the and lifting his head to look directly into the eyes of the Servant obstructing his path. "Josephine Roux threatened to kill me when we saw each other for the first time in nine years. We had spent our entire childhood together, and she says something like that… There is something wrong. She isn't like that. You of all people should know, having spent time during this War. She is a kind and loving person… And… And I can't stand to see her push me away like she did. There must be something wrong, and I have to make it right. I have to make sure she is okay. Roux would not act like she did unless there was something wrong with her! I have to help her!" Lancer didn't exactly know how to deal with the emotional outburst of the young Master that stood before her. She merely stared at him, wide eyed, astonished at his dedication to her Master. Saber froze during Torsten's speech, as if time had simply stopped. He proceeded to continue cleaning his blade once he was done.

There was a moment of dead silence as Torsten and Lancer stared each other down. Lancer was shocked into this silence, while Torsten felt there was nothing left that he needed to say. Lancer considered the young Master's words in this moment of nothingness. She had to admit that Roux wasn't the cold hearted person she made herself out to be to this young man. Not to mention that the blonde Servant could tell Roux was saddened by her treatment of him, thinking it a necessary evil. Perhaps this was Lancer's chance to prove her brilliant Master wrong?

After what seemed a lifetime, Lancer took a single step back from the living room entrance and turned her back away from the stairs that lead to the bedroom where the injured Josephine Roux lay. Torsten walked forward confidently, looking at Lancer as he passed her, giving her a nod of appreciation. The young Master walked up stairs first, Lancer following behind. All that was left in downstairs was Saber, done polishing his blade with eyes closed as if in deep thought, and a brilliant smile across his face.

* * *

><p>Josephine Roux awoke to sun streaming in the window of a room she was unfamiliar with. In a moment of panic, she tried to raise herself from the bed quickly, only to get part of the way and feel a stabbing pain in her side. The pain was so great at first that she almost shed a tear and had to resist the urge to yelp.<p>

"Master!"

A hushed voice came from one side of the bed on which the young woman lay. Roux turned in the direction of the voice and was met with the sparkling blue eyes of her Servant, her face weary but beaming at her Master.

"Lancer," croaked Roux, again trying to raise herself, albeit much slower to work through the pain. "Just what is…?" Roux trailed off as Lancer placed a finger to her Master's lips. Roux simply made a truly puzzled expression as she pulled herself upwards, only to find her left hand refusing to oblige and remaining stuck to the bed. She looked at what could be inhibiting the movement of her hand, fearing the worst and could only stare in pure surprise at what her eyes beheld.

Her hand was being clutched by the hand of another, namely, Torsten Amsel who was sitting in a chair with his arms and upper body lying on the bed beside Roux. His hand gripped hers tightly, as if not wanting to ever let go, despite his sound asleep. Roux could do nothing but gape. Lancer waited for her Master to come to her own senses before trying to explain just what was going on, standing patiently on the opposite side of the bed from where Torsten sat.

"T-Torsten…" said Roux in genuine surprise, with a hint of happiness. She tugged a little on her hand out of a natural reaction to free it and found it remained stuck fast. However, his grip was not painful. Roux could feel that it was a gentle hold that simply didn't wish for her to leave his side. At the thought of Torsten holding her hand all night and still holding it now, the young woman couldn't help but blush and feel her heart race a little. Roux shook her head, her messy bed hair fluttering around her head, trying to regain her. "Just what has happened?" The young woman whispered to her Servant, trying to not disturb the sleeping boy beside her.

"What happened," said the materialising Saber in as hushed a tone as his usually booming voice allowed. "Is that Torsten saved your life and that of your Servant when he had little incentive but tae help a friend." He sounded stern, his tone almost reprimanding. As much as he was thrilled Torsten would not let a friend die, he could not help but be frustrated at the tactical failure such a move resulted in. He took out his frustrations on the now conscious Roux.

Roux could only assume this giant of a man was Torsten's Servant. Having this imposing figure give her what could be seen as a scolding was a little rattling and she opened her mouth to speak but couldn't form the words. Lancer turned to look at Saber, her eyes fierce.

"However," began Saber, a grin spreading on his face. "You're safe now. That's all that matters tae that lad holding your hand. Just you remember that, lass." Lancer immediately stopped her vicious gaze and Roux's jaw only dropped lower than it was earlier. First of all, she wasn't exactly accustomed to being called 'lass' and second, this Saber was deceptively kind despite his brutish appearance.

"Do you think we should wake him?" asked Lancer, directing her question at Saber. Truth be told, the young Master had barely been asleep for an hour, and it was about 12:30pm right now. Lancer was amazed that Torsten had simply sat with Roux all night, holding her hand. He had sometimes simply stared off into space, and sometimes just looked at Roux's sleeping face.

"Hmmm?" mumbled Torsten, slowly waking of his own accord. His eyes slowly opened and he looked up to meet the slightly puzzled but smiling face of Josephine Roux. His eyes then dropped to the hand that still clutched Roux's. As his face went red, he let go hastily, and forced himself back into his seat fast. So fast, his seat tumbled backwards, toppling the young Master backwards into the wall, on which he slammed his head and then lay in a heap against. Torsten's head lolled from side to side as he lay dazed and in pain.

There was a moment of silence, as if all people in the room were unsure of what just happened. However, the hearty laughter of Saber demolished the silence, the great Servant almost doubling over at the sight of his Master. Lancer's face twitched into a cheeky smile, as she tried unsuccessfully to stop herself from sniggering. Roux started to laugh, but the motions of joy started to make her sides hurt thanks to her wound and she let out choked giggles between winces of pain.

"Alright, alright," said Torsten as he clumsily got himself off the floor and rubbed his battered head. "I get it, very funny." Saber kept on laughing, but Torsten noticed Roux wincing in pain as she giggled. Lancer noticed too and her face fell. It took a moment for Saber to realise the same, his face straightening right away. Roux stopped laughing and just looked like she was in pain, grabbing her wounded side with her face contorted.

"Roux," Torsten said, placing her hands on her shoulders. She looked at him, her face softening, seemingly forgetting her pain. Torsten moved his hands from Roux's shoulders to behind her and embraced her tightly, actively avoiding putting pressure anywhere near her wound. "I'm so glad you're safe."

Roux froze, not in pain but in surprise. She slowly lifted her own arms around Torsten, hugging back tightly. She clenched her eyes shut, guilt and happiness creating a storm of ambivalence within her mind. For now, however, happiness won out and she simply immersed herself in the first hug she had given her friend in nine long years. It was then that Lancer, and only Lancer it seemed, noticed a tear or two form in Roux's eyes as a small smile spread across her face.

Their embrace lasted a minute or two, Torsten picking up his toppled seat and sitting back down next to Roux's bed while Roux wiped her eyes a little once they were both ready.

"So," started Roux, clearing her throat and returning to her usual confident persona. "Berserker got the best of us, Lancer?" Lancer nodded sadly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside her Master.

"And it was Torsten and Saber here who rescued us?" Lancer nodded again to her Master. Roux crossed her arms and closed her eyes, looking like she was having a hard time figuring out what to say.

"You really are something, huh?" Roux suddenly said, turning to Torsten. "Not only did you join this Holy Grail War, but you tried to save someone who should rightfully be your enemy? Someone that, by and large, should kill you when they have the chance?" Roux sounded surprisingly upbeat during her probing into Torsten's actions and, as such, he found it hard to feel bad about it.

"Sure seems that way!" he replied jovially. Roux let out a sigh of resignation.

"You shouldn't be that cheerful about this you know," said Roux. "But, you did save my life. And Lancer's. I can't say that I'm not thankful."

"I know it was stupid…"

"You're tellin' me…" Saber interjected with a chuckle. Torsten ignored his Servant and continued.

"But, you don't didn't expect me to just leave you there, did you?"

"I suppose not. I didn't expect _you_ to leave me there. You've always been a bit on the soft side of things," joked Roux, giggling and then wincing again. It was then that Saber clapped his hands together loudly, gathering everyone's attention.

"This is sweet and all, but what dae we dae now?" asked the Scottish Servant. Torsten realised he hadn't thought very far along when he rescued Roux at this point. All he could think of was actually saving her from the immediate situation. Now she was in his bed injured, and probably not fit for fighting for a while.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Roux, turning to Saber. The Servant just gave an expectant look to the young woman in Torsten's bed. "I have to stay here for a while obviously. It's not like I can fight very well with this wound for the moment, and I can't put Lancer in a position where she has to fight without my support. I don't feel very up to returning home for now anyway."

"Are ye serious?" Saber asked Roux, then turning his attention to Torsten. "First we save an enemy and now they want tae bunk here. See what you've done? Jeez…" Torsten could tell his Servant wasn't angry as such. Probably a little annoyed that this War going quite as smoothly as it should, however. This was just icing on the cake.

"Well, I'm alright with it," Lancer said. "If my Master can trust you, I can too."

"It's up tae Torsten whether or not it's okay," said Saber, placing the burden of responsibility on his Master's shoulders. "He's the head of the house after all." Everyone turned to Torsten expectantly. He felt his face going red.

"If Roux thinks it's best to stay here, then that's alright with me," the young Master said hurriedly. This would keep Roux safe for a while and Torsten could know exactly where she was. As far as the young Master was concerned, it was good for the pair of them.

"Good! Then it's decided," Roux exclaimed. "I'll stay here until my wound is a little better. For now, I need some breakfast." She proceeded to try and get out bed, Lancer helping her up. Torsten jumped from his seat.

"Are you sure it's okay to move about already?" Torsten was surprised by Roux's sudden liveliness considering what she had been through.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the young woman said, grimacing from the pain. She stood up straight with help from Lancer and the pair left the room and walked downstairs.

"Sheesh," exclaimed Torsten as the pair left the room. Saber just chuckled and left behind the two women, Torsten following behind.

Torsten didn't have much in the way of food in the house, so he was embarrassed when Roux asked for a simple dish of bacon and eggs and all he could supply was some toast and a single egg. Roux didn't seem too perturbed, however, seemingly just happy she was getting something to eat. It was when Roux was just finishing her small meal on the living room couch that there came a rough and urgent sounding knock at Torsten's door. Everyone froze and looked at each other, wondering how to proceed.

"Chances are it's nothing, you know," said Torsten, heading towards the door. Saber followed close behind, and kept to the side, out of site range of the door, just in case it turned out his Master was wrong. Torsten reached the door, and another rapping came at the door, now much more urgent. He closed his hand slowly around the doorknob and opened the door.

"Oh my God."

Before him stood Guillaume Chevalier, breathing hard, hair tousled and blood stains on the shirt he wore under his open priest's cassock. He looked like he had been through hell, but he was standing tall.

"Good afternoon, young Torsten," Chevalier said, smiling. Suddenly, the priest lost his balance and fell forward into Torsten. The young man wasn't strong enough to hold this extra and sudden weight and the pair fell to the ground. Saber quickly picked up the bedraggled priest and helped him to the living room. Torsten quickly closed the door behind them.

"Out of the way, lass," said Saber, swiftly moving the priest to the couch and laying him down, Lancer helping Roux out of the way in time.

"What happened?" asked Roux, worried. She knew Chevalier well too, and was shaken by his appearance. The priest looked around him, glancing at Roux then Torsten who had just entered the living room behind them.

"What are you two doing together?" Chevalier asked, confused then shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. I should have expected this anyway." His eyes were unfocused and he was bordering on delirium.

"Just what the hell has happened to you?" asked Torsten, approaching the priest and kneeling to be level with his face.

"I tell you, calm down," said Chevalier with a weak chuckle. "I'm neither dead nor dying yet. Just a little worse for wear. But I had to get away from the Church. This was the first place I thought of."

"_Away_ from the Church?" repeated Torsten.

"Yes, it all started at the Church last night…"

* * *

><p>It was late at night when Father Chevalier decided to check on the homunculus underneath the Church, almost 3am as far as he knew. As a condition on this final Grail War running, the Church had insisted the homunculus was kept in the neutral area ordained by the Observer for the sake of fairness and safety. The location of the homunculus was to be kept secret as a result, and it was hidden away beneath the Church.<p>

The priest entered the underground section of the Church through a door at the very back of the building. It was past the back room that he had sat in with Torsten Amsel and his Servant, Saber. He opened the door to the lower recesses of the Church and locked it behind him, proceeding down a cold stone stairway lit by torches. The priest never liked going down there. It was a disturbing relic of the Church's past.

Chevalier took the long trek down the stairs, reaching the bottom which ended in another doorway. This door was beautifully made out of iron and was incredibly heavy. It was covered in complex and intricate markings, with a small thin hole at the centre. A rather unbefitting beauty considering what lay on the other side of it. The priest summoned a Black Key, and proceeded to push it into the hole in the centre of the door. There was a loud clanging of metal and the door swung open, leaving the sword still held in the priest's hand. He dispelled it as he proceeded into the chamber beyond.

The chamber itself was not particularly special. Four cold stone walls surrounded it, giving it a stark feeling, and a single large candle laden chandelier made of cast iron hung from the high ceiling, lit. What the chamber contained, however, was truly extraordinary.

In the centre of the stone room sat a vaguely human figure. It was bound by chains to the floor that attached to a collar around its neck and was in a kneeling position, with its hands wrapped together behind its back. It was stark naked, but there was nothing to see as it was missing genitalia of primary and secondary nature. However, the most striking feature of the figure before the priest was its face. It had the bone structure of a face, but it had no eyes, no mouth and only had the form of the nose, with no nostrils. There was definition to its brow and it had holes on the sides of its round bald head instead of ears. With the chandelier hanging directly above it, casting an eerie light, the Homunculus of the Holy Grail War was truly disturbing sight.

"Still here and still putrid," remarked Chevalier to himself, crinkling his nose in disgust at the sad creature before him. While the Father was not against the Art in anyway, quite the contrary in fact, he found what some Magi did was beyond the pale. Work with Homunculi often disgusted him and this was the worst he'd seen. Life given to a being that could not willingly use it. A cursed and pitiful creature.

The priest dared not step within a certain perimeter around the Homunculus, it disturbed him that much. However, he walked around the creature to make sure it was the same as usual and was satisfied with his check. He turned to the iron door, ready to escape this place when he heard a noise.

_Clink-clink_.

It was the sound of softly rattling chains. The Father halted. He slowly turned to the creature in the centre of the room, halfway to the door, halfway from the Homunculi. The Homunculus appeared to have not moved an inch, but the chains that bound it slowly swayed like they had been displaced. Chevalier stared at the creature, trying to ensure it was just his imagination that something had just moved the chain.

_Clink-clink_.

Again came the sound, and this time the priest saw the cause. The Homunculus twitched. There was a clear blanche that could be seen from the Homunculus.

"How…?" the Father asked out loud.

_CLANK._

The Homunculus suddenly spasmed, its chest bursting forward unnaturally and the chains binding it's neck to the floor going taut. The priest whipped around fully on the spot, summoning his Black Keys and his demeanour changing instantly like with the confrontation with the Suits.

_I knew there was something wrong with this… thing!_

The Homunuculus continued to swing around within its bounds, the chains lashing it to the floor flailing around and causing a cacophony of metal on stone. The priest had to think fast to stop whatever the Homunculus was doing. Thanks to the erratic movement of the creature, he couldn't get a good bead on a shadow it drew across the ground. If he could get a clear shot, his Black Keys could pin the creature in place. At the moment, that seemed unlikely to happen.

There was a tearing sound and the wrappings binding the arms of the Homunculus ripped apart, its arms flying out to its sides. Chevalier charged at the Homunculus, ready to kill it if the need be. As it was, he may just do it even if they creature calmed itself.

The Homunculus used it's now free arms to tear at the chains the restrained it as the priest flew forward at the creature. The creature ripped a chain from its collar and whipped it at Chevalier, forcing him to doge out of the way. The time bought by this action allowed the Homunculus to tear another chain away, and another. The hideous creature had a single chain left binding it to the floor of the room.

The priest resumed his attack, running full speed at the creature. The creature ducked under one sword swipe and flipped over the second in an inhuman display of agility. Chevalier continued his run past the Homunculus, making a circle around to attack again. This time, the Homunculus went on the offensive too, standing up despite the chain and leaping full force at the priest. The strength behind the leap was immense, tearing the collar from the creature's neck as it flew at Chevalier.

The priest skidded to a halt and raised his Black Keys to protect himself from the hideous creature flying at him. Somehow, even without eyes or any other senses that could be observed, it was fully aware of his presence and position.

_Just what the hell IS this thing?_

It landed on the priest's blades with its feet, hitting the broad side of the blades and using them to springboard into a back flip and land on the ground, upright, with a thud. It shrunk its form down with the momentum of the landing and used it as a further spring to launch itself low at Chevalier. The priest wasn't fast enough, and his monstrous foe slammed into him. It toppled the two to the ground, Black Keys flying out of Chevalier's hands and bursting into sheets of paper. Before he could summon more, the Homunculus lost whatever mental restraint it had.

The creature proceeded to beat at the priest hard with open hands and fist like a beast, tearing at his body and slamming his head against the ground. Chevalier tried desperately to fend off blows, but the crazed monster kept hammering away like a thing possessed. The priest eventually burst a hand free of the fray and summoned another Black Key, swiping at the monster that assailed him. It leapt off with insane speed and skill landing on a wall like a deranged animal and clinging there.

Chevalier jumped up, bloody and sore, summoning a second key in his other hand. His body ached, with his arm feeling heavy and nearly limp. The Homunculus started shaking and jittering erratically, its head twisting in all directions. It was truly a horrifying sight to behold.

_There is going to be no 'restraining' this thing… I have to kill it!_

The Homunculus suddenly leapt off the wall onto the ground, then flipping up to the ceiling and clinging there, almost as if gravity was null and void before its sheer horror. It blasted itself off the ceiling with tremendous force, slamming into a guarding Chevalier, launching him off his feet and across the room.

"ARGH," screamed the priest as he landed on the floor hard. He tried to get up with speed, only for him to see the Homunculus fling itself at him once again. In what seemed like slow-motion, Chevalier turned his head to the door. It was metres away. He couldn't win against this thing. He had to run and get help. His pride faltering, he took a back step towards the door. The creature seemed to notice what he was doing and sped up. It was then that Chevalier noticed the now prominent shadow of the Homunculus thanks to its position in front of the chandelier relative to the priest's position.

The priest threw a Black Key at the shadow and it hit. The Homunculus was violently frozen in place for a second then, through sheer power, it slowly forced itself forward, past the Black Key. It ignored the very thing restraining it to make its way as close to the now petrified priest as possible. It stopped with its featureless face an inch from Chevalier's.

"W-What are you?" blurted the priest, dropping his assumed coldness and frozen in fear. The Homunculus' head twitched and squirmed for a second until a thin line split across its featureless face where the mouth should be. It tore like a scalpel slices through flesh. The 'mouth' lacked lips, which gave it the appearance of a shark's, only smaller and unnatural looking. It opened, revealing sharpened teeth that were yellowed and gnarled. To the horror of Chevalier it began to speak.

"You thought you could make a pet of me?"

The hissing voice reeked of malice as acrid smoke poured out of its mouth. Now that Chevalier got a clear look at the creature, he was truly disgusted. It was lanky and gangly, with sinewy muscles and it had an unnatural paleness to it. It had erratic and jittery motions, whether caused by the strain against the black key or a failing nervous system was irrelevant, that gave it a disturbing gait and made it seem unpredictable.

_M-Monster…_

It was then that the priest noticed a light begin to bloom at the back of the throat of the Homunculus, deciding it was time to make his escape. Chevalier broke the mental bonds that locked him in place with fear and he ran at speed out the iron door, closing it behind him. It locked just as the priest heard the vicious roaring of flames from behind the door, the cast iron frame heating to dangerous levels extraordinarily quickly.

With what little energy he had left, Guillaume Chevalier made his escape up the stairs of the stone corridor. He locked the door at the top of the stairs as he exited and immediately left the Church, taking nothing with him. He walked for miles in the dark night of Lyon, finally collapsing in an alleyway. From both pain and weariness, he passed out, looking like a common beggar of the streets.

When he awoke, the sun was shining and he was still in great pain. He slowly raised himself up from the ground, not knowing how much time had passed since he dropped out of consciousness. The priest, in crippling pain and in desperate need of aid, made note of the street the alley opened into. He was close to a place that could give him help and shelter:

The home of Torsten Amsel.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter done! ^^

I'd like to think the saying 'The plot thickens!' is somewhat applicable here. XD

Anyway, University has resumed itself, so releases _will_be slower. However, I'll still be writing my butt off when I can.

Til next time!


	12. Jo

Chapter 12  
>Jo<p>

"And, now I'm here," mumbled the priest with a weak smile. There was a long silence after Chevalier's tale. All the Servants and Masters could do was stare at the priest. It was Roux who first broke the silence.

"I knew it. I knew there was something wrong with that vessel!" She clapped a fist down into her open hand in assuredness.

"I suppose it was natural for you to have suspicions, Josephine," said the priest, sitting up with more effort than should be required. Torsten jumped to help him but Chevalier waved him away. "I'm fine, I'm fine"

"So, what do you think that thing was then?" asked Torsten, deciding to leaving Chevalier to his fend for himself. "I mean, it can't just be a normal homunculus right? There has to be something special about it."

"I wish I knew what it was," the priest said, putting his hand down his shirt to feel for still flowing blood. It came out with little but mostly coagulated crimson liquid coating it. Chevalier seemed satisfied with this. "This has placed this entire war in a precarious situation. I've been told by the Church that the Mages Association has stated that the War was not to be cancelled for any reason. And 'special' isn't exactly the word I would choose for that… _thing_."

"What kind of order is that?" blurted out Roux with enough fervour to induce a wince from her wounds. "This War has just fallen apart! We need to alert the other Masters and destroy that thing before it does any harm!"

"It's not that simple. For one, I can't just contact the other Masters and tell them what has happened. Second, this is the Mages Association we're talking about. They will enforce their order. Even if they have to kill us all, they will do it." Chevalier was growing pale as he spoke. Soldiering on for the sake of the others was taking it's toll.

"But that homunculus was found in a secret Einzbern castle, the Höllenschlund! Who knows what the thing is capable of if we leave it alone? It almost killed you!" With Roux's rebuttal increasing incrementally in volume, it was clear she was losing her temper with the stubborn priest.

"The Höllenschlund?" repeated Chevalier. It was then he realised his arms felt exceptionally heavy. Like blocks of lead attached at his shoulders. He lifted one with some effort and looked at it, focusing on the forearm. His cassock and the shirt beneath were covered in miniscule holes. His eyes widened, and stood swiftly to tear his coat and shirt off.

"What is it? What's wrong?" said Torsten frantically, trying to support the priest as he tore his coat off. Chevalier then proceeded to tear open his shirt, popping many of the buttons. His body underneath was horrifying. There were countless tiny holes bored into his skin, covering his torso and arms. Some still leaked small amounts of blood, and any area not covered with these pinhole wounds was bruised and battered.

"Jesus…" Saber swore under his breath.

Coupled with the sudden action of standing and the clear seriousness of his wounds, Guillaume Chevalier collapsed in a heap on Torsten's floor, eyes rolling back into his skull as he fell. He was deathly pale, and breathing heavily.

"No!" yelled Torsten, flipping the priest onto his back on the floor. He was in a bad way. The young Master looked at Roux. "Can you do anything?"

"I-I don't know…" she stammered in reply, unable to kneel at the priest's side in fear of aggravating her wounds. "All I can suggest is patching him up and having someone watch him… It's exhaustion and blood loss."

Torsten once again had to play host to a convalescing friend, with Saber dutifully bandaging Chevalier's wounds after applying a styptic from the first aid kit and laying him on the couch. On closer inspection, his shirt was truly caked in dried crimson liquid. After settling Chevalier down, the group kept watch over him, tensions high.

"This is insane," murmured Torsten. "What are we supposed to do now? The War is completely flawed, Chevalier is almost dead and the rest of the Masters are completely unaware of what is going on." The young Master sat cross-legged on the ground, rocking a little from nervousness.

"I was going to bring this up later," started Roux, sitting in the armchair with Lancer balanced gracefully on one of its arms. "But, I should just say it now: We should team up, Torsten."

"What? We can do that?" asked a confused Torsten, almost falling backwards. Roux giggled at the strange reaction, clutching her sides.

"Of course we can! It's a battle royale with no real solid rules. That, and this war had turned rotten. We have to work together now. The other Masters don't know the War is in jeopardy, and won't likely believe us if we try and tell them what has happened. Not without Chevalier anyway and he isn't in any position to help right now."

"Well, I'm fine with a team up," Torsten exclaimed, finding it hard to hide his excitement.

_Yes, yes, yes!_

"But what can we do now?" pondered the young Master. "We can't just keep fighting…"

"Oh, we can and we will. Nobody will believe us if we tell them what has happened. I met a Master by the name of 'James Cobb' earlier on in the conflict. A wicked man who wouldn't believe us. And that Takeo Kinjou? Even if he did believe us, I doubt he would care. I can't speak for other Masters, but it would no doubt be the same. No, we fight and we try to win." Roux playfully waggled her finger. Torsten had to agree with Roux's assessment, despite his reservations.

"I… I don't want to have to kill any more people though," mumbled Torsten, head hung. Roux's jaw dropped.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said, waving her arms in an exaggerated display. "'Kill any _more_ people?' You've killed someone in the War?" The young woman's voiced carried an undisguised tinge of surprise. Roux honestly didn't expect Torsten could kill someone.

"Y-yeah," stammered Torsten, embarrassed and ashamed. "I confronted the Master of Archer… And I killed her…" The young man's voice trailed off as he spoke, his desire to keep his dirty secret overriding his speech. Saber, who had previously decided to keep quiet, decided he had to speak.

"The pair, or at least the Master, was murderin' innocent people. Not even for their lifeforce. Just for kicks. We got rid of them. If it wasn't for Torsten, there would be dozens dead by now." The Servant spoke sharply. "I should add, that Torsten killed the Master by himself, and I the Servant." Roux sat in a stunned silence for a few seconds, imagining what Torsten must be thinking. She, of all people, would know exactly how he felt.

"Torsten," Roux barked, almost sounding angry. The young Master raised his head in a jump and looked at the woman in the chair before her. Much to his relief, Roux's expression was a warm one. "I don't feel any happier about the act of killing than you do. In fact, it is something that you should never do. But I can say, with absolute certainty, you did the right thing. While I don't believe in killing someone for their transgressions, you would have saved many lives if that Master was indeed murdering many people." Torsten was left comforted but speechless by his friend's words. Saber had been quietly nodding along with her speech, agreeing, while Lancer sat pensive, eyes shut. Suddenly, Roux clapped her hands together.

"That enough dwelling on killing people for now," she said loudly, as if to scare away the morbid conversation. It was then Roux paused, observing her outstretched arms then lowered her head to the t-shirt, pulling it out a little at the bottom to get a good look at it. She only just noticed that it wasn't in fact her white shirt. "I suppose you tended my wound last night?" The young woman glanced to her Servant who responded with a small shake of the head.

"Actually, Torsten handled your wounds…" Lancer said, trailing off upon realising the implications of what had just escaped her lips. Josephine's face went bright red within seconds and her arms lifted to her chest, trying obscure the view that was already obscured by her shirt. She looked like an ambivalent combination of embarrassed and angry.

"I-I only opened you shirt t-" stammered Torsten before cutting himself off as Roux's face went from red to a deep crimson. "Aw, shit…"

"I… You… Why… TORSTEN!" yelled Roux, ignoring the pain stemming from her wound. Saber burst out into a booming laugh and Lancer did naught but sigh at her Master's outburst.

"Lancer changed your shirt!" blurted the young Master, edging away from the maddening Roux on his butt. "I didn't see anything! I just cleaned and bandaged your wound!" Saber's laughter intensified as Roux's face grew redder and redder, the anger eclipsing her embarrassment. The Scottish Servant tried to stifle his laugh, Torsten hoping he was coming to his defence.

"Ye know, I was wondering why you were 'checking her breathing' for so long," said Saber trying to hold back his laughter enough to form words. "That wasnnae all you were checking!" Lancer's eyes widened and Torsten could swear a vein was popping out on Roux's neck.

"Torsten…" Roux forced through gritted teeth.

"You know, I should go get some groceries! I... Uh… Should get them now! Yeah! Then you can have a proper breakfast from now on, huh?" the young Master said, jumping to his feet and almost galloping out the room for the front door. Saber chuckled and spiritualised to follow his Master.

"Get back here!" yelled Roux behind him, getting out from her seat as fast as her wounds would allow her and turning into the front hall, only to see the door slam behind a fleeing Torsten.

* * *

><p>It was a dank warehouse where Takeo Kinjou had claimed residence for this War. He had found it abandoned one night before even summoning his Servant and simply decided to squat there for the remainder. His goals would not be hindered by such a basic living location and he didn't give much thought to comfort or convenience.<p>

He sat at a foreman's desk in the dim light of early morning after his battle with Da Rocha operating on the hand that had been seared horrifically. The offices that hung above what would normally be a full warehouse of workers, machinery and wares made for adequate living quarters.

Kinjou had little true skill as a Magus, but the one thing he had learnt was to use the Art for surgery and medicinal purposes. When you have an eternal lust for battle, it helps to know how to fix your own mistakes, he often reasoned to himself. As such, he never considered any move that inflicted self-harm true mistakes in battle. Pain was a part of life many people failed to appreciate, and he was a connoisseur of agony.

Berserker stood blankly by his side, neutral as ever, while her Master tried to remove as much of the scarring on his hand as was possible. He had little experience with burns, but was making progress. While the flames should have caused serious third degree burns, he was able to manipulate his skin in such a way it only looked like second at most. His fingers were trickier to deal with, with most being burnt all the way around the digit. They still looked well cooked, but he was able to ensure their full functionality. After a good ten minutes more work tidying loose parts of skin, he had done all he could.

His hand looked red and sore, with the fingers having permanent twisted and contorted scars, but he could manage with this easily. They didn't hinder his movements, and scars were the ultimate symbol of pride and his superiority.

"Now," said the Master, turning to his hulking mass of a Servant. "I know you don't even speak but you can listen, my Queen." Berserker stood completely still as her Master stood up and circled her, beginning to ramble.

"This War is all about bloodshed," Takeo started, happy to have an audience even if it was mute. "The Mages Association will insist it is nothing of the sort, but I know. I _know_. This is a War to prove who the most supreme power on the planet is!" Kinjou's volume raised as he spoke, excitement at his own ideas made real by his words rising.

"It's your duty to act as proof of my superiority, my Queen! I shall win the War, obtain the Grail and, with its power, wield supreme power of the world… With you as my Queen!" He let out a jarring cackle, to which Berserker didn't respond.

"But I digress," said the Master, calming himself and clearing his throat. "This War is about bloodshed. Combat. Fighting. The enjoyment of giving and receiving pain! Keep that in mind, my Queen." Takeo abruptly ended his speech, his erratic mind deciding he needed to make up for missed sleep since the fight in the park. Takeo Kinjou found a worn couch in the office and settled into a deep sleep as Berserker remained an unmoving statue.

* * *

><p>Saber and Lancer, left in charge of the still sleeping Chevalier, and waited with his still comatose body. After Torsten has fled from Roux's rage, the young woman had immediately gone to the bedroom and had not come down since. Torsten had taken a full two hours to do the grocery shopping with a silent Saber in tow just to get away from it all. Lancer had graciously allowed the young Master to meet Roux in private and apologise to her. He was on his way up the stairs doing just that when Saber, sitting with his back to against the wall on the floor, decided to break the all too common silence between the two.<p>

"So, you saw my Noble Phantasm?" asked Saber out of the blue. Lancer, sitting in the armchair by the sofa, turned from the priest to look at the Scottish Servant. Her gaze was analytical, always questioning and probing. Torsten was a naïve young boy; too innocent to do any harm to either her or Roux. But this Servant was an enigma to her, despite his now known identity.

"I did," she replied tersely. She hadn't exactly been unconscious during the affair with Berserker. She had been more or less catatonic, witnessing Saber's grandiose display.

"Pretty good, eh?" Saber mused happily. On Saber's part, he thought he had a good idea of his partner, but needed more to work with. Simple small talk was surprisingly effective at acting as a determinant for battlefield compatibility, so the Scottish Servant decided to just keep talking until he felt satisfied with his understanding of Lancer.

"I suppose," Lancer said, sounding as unimpressed as she possible could, turning back to the priest. He was breathing softly and still alive.

"Hah, you don't sound very convinced there, lass," chuckled Saber. "And you don't need tae worry about him. I've see him fight before. The man is a monstrous beast! He'll be awake tomorrow." Lancer turned once again to Saber, frustration clear on her face.

"I am no 'lass'. You will refer to me as Lancer," she said swiftly, her piercing blue eyes drilling into the Scottish Servant's head. She would stand for no diminutives being applied to her.

"Sorry, meant no offense," Saber said, raising his palms in his defence. Lancer nodded solemnly in appreciation, and turned back to the priest despite Saber's words.

"I was serious, y'know," Saber insisted, looking at Lancer expectantly.

"I've been entrusted with the care of this man," Lancer said, refusing to oblige Saber with even a glance. "By your Master no less. I shall complete my duties in full, as any Servant should." With her emphasis on her last statement, Saber let out a little chuckle, which was enough to make Lancer swing around in anger at the Scottish's Servant lack of dedication.

_Hmph._ _Fiercely loyal this one, huh? Partners for a few hours and she trusts the lad. Good._

"Hold it!" Saber said as she opened her mouth to object at his laugh. "I think I have ye down tae a T now. Jes' forget I'm here." Saber closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, feigning sleep. When Saber heard Lancer shuffle to face Chevalier once more, he couldn't help but grin.

_Hah, he's not so bad after all_. _If he wasn't bothered with caring for the man, he'd have spiritualised by now. _The blonde Servant kept her watch over Chevalier, smiling.

* * *

><p>Torsten reached his bedroom door and knocked. His own annoyance that he had to do this in his own house and for his own room was quickly forgotten when he remembered the fact that Roux was staying with him. His knock was met with a quiet 'Come in', so he braced himself and opened the door.<p>

Josephine was uprightg in bed, her back leaning on its backboard and looking rather tired. Torsten closed the door behind him and slowly made his way to her bedside.

"How are you feeling?" asked Torsten, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. "Better?".

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," she said, her cheerfulness contagious. "If I strain myself it hurts, but in a few days I should be alright."

"That's good," said the young Master, scratching the back of his head, trying to figure out how to proceed. He figured he should just be blunt. "Sorry about, you know… Earlier…" Roux looked puzzled for a second before it dawned on her what he was referring to. She let out a little giggle.

"It's ok," Roux said, smiling. "I probably got too angry about it anyway. You were trying to help me after all." Torsten's relief was almost palpable. The young woman couldn't help but let out another giggle at his almost exaggerated sigh of respite.

"That's good," he said. Torsten couldn't think of anything more to say. The conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Despite their childhood pasts, they found it hard to talk so frankly anymore. This, however, was the chance Roux had been waiting for. She decided to break the silence.

"Torsten… I…" she found it hard to continue. Torsten looked at her expectantly and slightly confused. As far as he was concerned, they were trying to make small talk."I… I'm sorry." The young woman hung her head as she spoke.

"Sorry? For what?" asked Torsten, oblivious.

"I… I was heartless to you. I insulted you when we met for the first time in nine years. I even threatened to kill you! I don't know how you could forgive me the first place." Roux looked up at Torsten, the beginnings of tears in her eyes. The young Master almost fell out of his chair in panic.

"Don't cry!" he said hastily. Torsten hated to see people cry, especially on his account. It filled him with a sense of guilt as if he could have prevented the person from feeling enough pain such as to cry in the first place. "You had your reasons for saying those things, right? I never believed you meant them for one second. Honest!"

"Really?" Roux asked, her eyes glassy from impending tears.

"Ok, maybe _two_ seconds…" said Torsten, trying to lighten up the mood. The young woman couldn't help but giggle again, but tears began to stream from her eyes and down her cheeks. Torsten's heart couldn't help but fall in his chest at his failure.

"I _did_ have my reasons," Roux said, drying her tears. "I think you need to know why so I can feel better." If it would stop Roux crying, Torsten would do it. He nodded emphatically, allowing her to say what she wanted to say.

"I was trying to protect you," she began, still trying to dry her face. "When I say you in the street shaking that man's hand, I knew you had gotten yourself wrapped up in this War. I was scared. I thought I would have to fight you, or that you would get hurt. I decided that if even I pushed you away, you'd quit the War. You could have just met with Chevalier to do it, and he would gladly protect you. So… I threatened you. I tried to turn you away…" Roux stopped. She hung her head again and began to visibly sob. Torsten looked around himself for someone to help, but it was only him and Roux in the room.

"You were trying to protect me?" Torsten parroted back, unsure what else to say. Roux didn't look up, but nodded. Her shoulders were still shaking with her sobs. It was then that it dawned on Torsten. As misguided and rushed a method as it was, she was trying in some way to make sure he wasn't hurt. He couldn't help but be saddened by the fact she was only hurting herself to spare himself from pain. Torsten slowly reached out and embraced Roux tightly. "You're an idiot, you know?" Roux stiffened a little, continuing to cry, before returning his embrace.

"Am not!" she managed between sobs, her tears landing on his shirt.

"Yes you are, Jo" he said quietly, closing his eyes. He hadn't used that name for Josephine Roux in a very long time. It felt like a release to finally say it once again. "You could have just talked to me normally. You didn't have to try and scare me away." Roux blushed at the use of Torsten's nickname for her. Just as Torsten hadn't used it for a long time, Roux hadn't heard it either. Only Torsten was allowed to call her that when they were children. Not even her parents got away with such a thing.

"Thank you," she sobbed, her arms tightening around him. "I realise that now. I suppose I was stuck in the past, thinking you were still that little weak boy I'd left behind…" She trailed off. Torsten let out a chuckle.

"I suppose I still am," he reasoned. "You can thank Saber and his stubbornness for toughening me up. And…" This time, Torsten trailed off.

"And?" Roux loosened her grip on Torsten, and the pair separated. She needed to dry her eyes properly. The bed sheet sufficed in the role of a tissue.

"Well, Saber said he'd give me a boot up the arse at one point…" the young Master said with a laugh. Jo giggled, and it was then he noticed she was blushing. He didn't quite know why, but it made him blush all the same. The pair stared at each other for a few seconds, a second awkward silence forming.

"A-anyway, I meant to ask you something!" stammered Jo, looking away from Torsten as if to break the cycle of reddening faces. She quickly looked back at him. "How did you fight the Master of Archer?" The question caught the young Master off guard.

"Uh…" he stalled, trying to think back. It wasn't a good memory, but he had an idea why Jo would want to know. "Well, I used some pretty basic Projection, and… Räumlich Einsturz." The young woman's eyes widened at this.

"Did you use the crest to do it?"

"Well… No," answered Torsten, looking at the hand he used to take Adelheid's life. "You know I can't use it…"

"Hah!" exclaimed Roux, flinging her head back in an exaggerated display. "What rubbish! Of course you can use it! And I'm going to help you use it. For now, however, we should both get some rest." Torsten was wide eyed at the thought that he could use his family crest, but the prospect of sleep was very welcoming. Torsten stood, and made his way to the door. He had yet to work out where he would sleep with Chevalier taking up the couch he intended to use up until this morning.

"You… You can sleep here if you want…"

Torsten turned to see Roux motioning to the chair on the other side of the bed. Considering the young Master had no other real place to sleep, and he had a strong urge to stay by Roux's side, he quickly turned and made for the chair.

"Thanks," Torsten said, yawning. He moved around the bed and sat down as Roux just lay down and tried to get some sleep.

"Goodnight, Jo"

"Goodnight, Torsten"

It wasn't long before Torsten was left sitting awake while his childhood friend lay in a quiet sleep. Slowly, Torsten Amsel himself succumbed to slumber.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter down! Character development~! Hopefully, you enjoyed this one. ^^

My writing schedule is out of whack thanks to University, but hopefully I can get back into some sort of rhythm! XD


	13. Confiance

Chapter 13  
>Confiance<p>

Torsten and Roux were awoken in the morning to the sound of a large banging on the bedroom door and a loud, heavily accented, voice. The pair came to in a delirium, struggling to reach a true conscious state despite the banging.

"Oi, rise and shine lovebirds!" Saber yelled through the door. "The priest already beat you!" Torsten and Jo sprung forward in the chair and bed respectively.

"WHAT?" The pair both shouted at the top of their lungs.

"Ye heard me," said Saber, frustrated. "Now git your kits on and get down here!" Jo almost chocked on her complaint about the persistent banging.

"What the hell do you think we were doing in here?" she yelled, shuffling herself out of the bed and proceeding to walk to the door. She had slept in her clothes last night, just as Torsten had slept in his. The young Master raised himself from his chair and tried to straighten out his clothes a little. Jo opened the door to find Saber leaning against the doorframe in an exaggerated position of 'cool'.

"So," the Servant said with a cheeky grin. "Get much sleep there, lad? Lass?" Jo's face reddened, but not out of embarrassment. The quirkiness of Saber's diminutive nicknames was lost on her. Torsten just heaved a sigh as he worked his way to Roux's side.

"We weren't doing anything," Jo insisted, tapping her foot in impatience at Saber's unmoving bulk blocking the door. "And don't call me 'lass'. It's Josephine or Roux to you, Saber." The Servant let out a little chuckle, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

"C'mon Jo, he's just making a joke. Albeit a little bit of a tired one." Torsten looked at his Servant with an eyebrow raised.

"Oooo, so I cannae call you anythin' but he can call you 'Jo'?" laughed the Servant, springing off the door frame and proceeding down the stairs. Roux's red face only got redder.

"Let's just go see Chevalier, shall we?" said Torsten timidly, swiftly changing the subject. She nodded in agreement and cleared her throat as if to clear her mind. The pair followed Saber to the living room to find Lancer seated in the arm chair and Chevalier lying on the couch as they left him, but conscious. Lancer immediately stood and strode to her Master's side as Chevalier emitted a weak smile.

"Sorry about that there," the priest said as Torsten kneeled beside him. "Didn't mean to scare you all." Chevalier looked at his bandaged body and couldn't help but cringe a little. He was not accustomed to being helpless. That said, he was not accustomed to being beaten almost to death.

"Sorry?" laughed Torsten. "Jeez, at least you're alive right?" The priest smiled.

"I don't think I'll be much help for a while…" Chevalier trailed off. He was still pale from the blood loss, and any exertion wasn't a good idea. However, his face showed more concern for his saviours than for himself. "This is bad. Do you have a plan for what you'll do? In this condition I probably couldn't confront the Masters and tell them what is going on." Jo jumped into the conversation.

"We do. The only thing we can do is to continue the fight," Jo said confidently, hands on hips. The priest was dumbstruck and seemed to grow even paler than he was moments ago.

"Continue the fight?" Are you mad?" the priest tried to yell, but it fell short on energy and came out as a strained rasp. "That _thing_ could be out on the streets! The other Masters have to be warned!"

"And how do you suppose we do that? Short of the Homunculus attacking them, they wouldn't believe us if we told them what was going on!" Roux retorted. She had run through the scenario in her head yesterday. "Not to mention that thing may yet remain in the Church basement. You locked it there and it seemed more like a disturbed animal than anything else. Who knows if it has proper capacity for thought?" She paused for a counterpoint but received none, so she continued.

"In addition, each of these Masters has joined knowing exactly what kind of competition this is." Jo gave a small glance at Torsten as she spoke. "They should be prepared to die in this War, regardless of the how or why." As cold as it was, Torsten couldn't help but agree with Jo. As much as he had entered the War in such a way that provoked both Saber and Roux's ire, her logic was sound. You had to be ready to die in this War. If was safe to assume everyone else was. Chevalier stared at Jo, studying here before providing a response.

"As you wish then," said the priest quietly. "I think you'll live to regret that decision, but I can't say I can do much in my position. I ask of you one thing, however. Do _not_ try to fight that thing. If it is somehow running wild, I can contact the Church somehow. There is no need for you to risk your lives fighting that thing. It will be for nought." Jo grinned contentedly at her small victory.

"But, why don't you contact the Church right now? The Church has its Execution Squads? Mage-Killers? We could solve this entire mess within minutes!" exclaimed Torsten confused at the lack of attention on the obvious option.

"It's not that simple, Torsten," Chevalier said sternly. "The church can't just jump into the Holy Grail War. As much as the relations between the Church and Mages Association are much better than they were say, two hundred years ago, the Church interfering with Magi business will be seen as an offensive act. No, the Church can't know just yet. If they found out, they would most likely damn the repercussions and send in a squad."

"You're not as pious as I thought, talking about your own Church like that," said Jo with a smirk. The priest offered a smile.

"I know the Church is flawed. It's part of why I became a Priest, to close the gaps between Magi and the Church," the priest said, almost talking to himself instead of answering Roux's question. "But it doesn't seem I can do much even as the Observer of the Holy Grail."

"Alright, alright," exclaimed Saber suddenly. "The Father shouldnae be exerting himself like this. We'll leave it at this for his sake, ok?"

"You're right, Saber," said Torsten, standing from Chevalier's side. "We'll leave you to get some sleep." The priest nodded and shut his eyes.

"Lancer, can I ask you to watch him for a little while? He should be fine, but I want to be sure," Jo asked her Servant. Lancer gave a curt nod and sat back down in the armchair.

"Saber, come with us," Jo said, dragging Torsten along behind her, heading towards the stairs. Saber followed with a chuckle and certain jovial spring in his step.

"I thought _you_ were my Master, lad?" laughed the Servant. All Torsten could do was shrug.

* * *

><p>Caster, despite his Master's assurances and faith, doubted himself more and more. As he sat across the table from Cecile Prideaux, once again taking in the view of Lyon from his Master's balcony, he couldn't help but bemoan his ultimate fate; a fate which Cecile seemed to not worry about as much as he did, despite her knowledge of it.<p>

"What is it, Caster?" Cecile suddenly asked, looking out at Lyon easily sensing the inner plight of her companion. The Servant couldn't help but smile at the thought of them being so in-tune with each other.

"It is nothing, Cecile," Caster quickly replied. "I'm just thinking on how to proceed in this War. You do know I'll have to summon it sometime, don't you?" Caster wanted to ask Cecile about this since the moment he told her of his power. He couldn't quite tell if she understood the magnitude of utilising it in person. It could be devastating to both of them.

"I know," Cecile said, finally turning to her Servant. "You already used it for recon purposes, correct? I understand that was under different conditions but…" The woman trailed off and her eyes slowly drifted to the deep black shadow that Caster cast on the balcony. No matter the light source or its intensity, his shadow was a pure black. An impenetrable pool of darkness from which nothing could be read. It had become this since Caster had made an emergency use of his Noble Phantasm while fighting Assassin and James Cobb.

"Those different conditions matter," the Servant said sternly, squirming in his seat. His shadow did not reflect his movements, simply quivering slightly at its edges. "Bringing that demon into the world is dangerous. I could use it for reconnaissance before because I concentrated on preventing it from invading my mind while it searched Lyon. To use it in combat is very different. I can't keep it from affecting my thoughts. Not to mention using more and for prolonged spans of time can make its influence over my actions permanent." Caster stopped and sighed, looking at own his shadow. It barely represented his form anymore, looking more like an amorphous pool of darkness that billowed and contorted seemingly at random.

"I'm sure you can fight and keep your mind safe at the one time," said Cecile, sounding more like she was asking a question to which she desperately wanted the answer to be 'yes'.

"It's not my mind that I fear would be in danger, Cecile," Caster said solemnly, turning back to his Master. "It is you." Cecile's eyes widened at what Caster was implying. She hesitated to press the issue further.

_I will be in danger?_ She thought, alarmed at her Servant's words. Before she could work up the courage to ask for more details, Caster spoke once again and dispelled this thought.

"Shall we forge ahead in our hunt again tonight, Cecile?" Caster said, expertly changing the subject. The Master of Caster sighed and nodded in agreement, acquiescing to Caster's silent wish to change the topic of discussion. If they encountered another Master this time, there would be no running away.

* * *

><p>Roux sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at Torsten and Saber with an analytical eye. She had promptly dragged them to the bedroom and told them to be quiet until 'she was done'. Neither of the pair quite knew what that meant. Considering her arms and legs were crossed and the scrunched face, she was taking whatever she was doing seriously. Still, she simply looked as if she was thinking hard about something.<p>

Torsten couldn't help but notice her unkempt auburn hair and the fact she was still wearing one of his shirts. What surprised him the most is that she didn't seem care. It was hard for Torsten to come to terms with the fact that ten years had passed between the pair. Their bond was as tight as ever, but Roux was a woman now, and he was a man. His thoughts began to stray to just what their relationship really is before he was snapped out of his deep thought.

"Right!" exclaimed Jo suddenly, giving Torsten a heart attack that gave Saber a chuckle. "Saber, do you feel you are connected properly to Torsten?" She tapped a slender finger against the inside of her arm as she waited for an answer.

"Aye, as far as I can tell, the summoning went correctly," the Scottish Servant said. "I did land on top of the roof a house over, but that's about it." Saber smirked and glanced at his Master who smiled back.

"Good, then I assume you are receiving enough mana to sustain yourself?" asked Jo, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye, no lack of mana from Torsten that I can tell," the Servant said simply. Jo screwed up her face in what seemed to be deep thought once again and placed a hand on her chin. Torsten couldn't help but think the display was put on, but he was too afraid to ask.

"Alright, you can go now Saber," the young woman said suddenly, her face un-scrunching as she looked up at the giant Servant with a beaming smile.

"Who died and made you my Master, eh?" said Saber partly joking, partly out of genuine chagrin with Roux's domineering attitude. Saber looked at his Master who offered a nod and a shrug. "I'll see you two lovebirds later then!" Saber managed one last jab before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Torsten sighed and Roux looked ready to explode before the young Master interrupted her building rage.

"So, what's all this in aid of?" asked Torsten. Jo leaned forward on the edge of the bed, beckoning Torsten to sit on the edge with her. He complied, if a little hesitant about it, and sat to her left.

"Well, like I mentioned last night, I'm going to help you make use that Crest that you have," Jo said, edging closer to Torsten and grasping his right hand and pulling it across her lap. "I was just making sure you actually had a proper connection with Saber. It would have revealed if you had any problems that were more far reaching than a simple lack of confidence."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Torsten exclaimed as Jo rolled back his sleeve, and looked at his bare right forearm that lay over her lap. This was the arm that had the Amsel Thaumaturgical Crest implanted in it. Roux ran her fingers along his arm, and closed her eyes as if trying to look for something. "I only have part of the Crest implanted you know. They stopped when the realised it would be pointless…" Torsten's statement didn't seem to faze the young woman as she kept caressing his arm. He would never say it to her face, but Torsten didn't exactly dislike the feeling of her touch on his arm either.

"Really now?" asked Jo, obviously baiting, eyes remaining closed and fingers still caressing Torsten's arm softly and carefully. Admittedly, she had discovered just what she had wanted to find already. Apart from enjoying the moment just as much as Torsten, she preferred the dramatic approach in whatever she did. "I'm not so sure this Crest is incomplete. On the contrary, as far as I can tell, it seems complete. Are you sure it's it was an incomplete transplant?"

"Yes," said Torsten after some deliberation. "I received most of my Father's Crest, but not all of it. My Mother made sure to remind me of that often…" The young man trailed off, his eyes losing focus as memories of darker times came to the forefront of his mind. Jo stopped her search for the Crest and turned to Torsten only to find him staring off in to space, looking vacant.

"Well, I have good news then," Jo said triumphantly, waiting for Torsten to break out of his reverie and face her before continuing. "Your Crest is complete! At least, the spells in it are complete. If it is in fact not fully implanted in your arm, you are missing whole spells as opposed to having a non-functioning Crest. You shouldn't have to chant to use what spatial spells you know." Torsten looked dumbstruck before his eyes darkened and he retreat back into pessimism.

"I don't exactly know how to use the Crest though," began Torsten, taking back his arm and rolling down his sleeve. "My family gave up on teaching me how to use it when it was clear I didn't have the skills and planned to have another heir instead. That's why Father taught what I could use without the Crest." Jo let out an exaggerated 'tut-tut' and shook her finger in the young Master's face.

"_I'll_ teach you how to use it then," exclaimed Roux, standing from the edge of the bed. "It's easy! That's why the Crest exists, you know? To collect all the spells of a family or line together for easy access and deployment." She placed her hands on her hips and stood dramatically before Torsten who still sat on the bed.

"_You_ will teach me?"

"You bet I will," Jo said forcefully to make her intentions perfectly clear. "Now, I want you to imagine the Crest in your arm. Visualise it as part of your very being. It _is_ part of your being. You should be able to feel it on a base level." Torsten closed his eyes and reached his right arm out in from of himself. He concentrated on the Crest that should reside in his arm. He felt something deep within his limb. He had felt it before during the transplant procedures and sometimes it would occur when his mind trailed off while he was tired. It was a tingly feeling that was not exactly physical. It was more complex than that.

"I think I have it…" As much as he could feel the Crest, it hurt that he knew the outcome of this little exercise before it even began. Time and time again he had tried this, and all failed.

_This time will be no different…_

"Good! Now, try and access it with prana," Jo said, now pacing back and forth in front of Torsten. "Pour prana into the Crest you have visualised, and find Räumlich Einsturz. When you've found it, aim at the pillow and use it. Do not say a word. You do not have to chant." Torsten's face screwed up in concentration as he tried to pour prana into what he had formed in his mind as his Crest. He felt the pure magic energy move within his body, his nerves becoming highways for his power. However, it reached his forearm and came to a jarring halt. He felt a twang of pain and grabbed at his right arm.

"What's wrong?" asked Jo, crouching on her haunches to be at eye level with Torsten. She looked serious.

"It… didn't work," said Torsten, hesitating. It had worked out just like it had all those times before. He had expected it, but it felt bad to disappoint Jo like that and to embarrass himself in front of her. "The prana just reaches my forearm and when I try and get it to work its way into the Crest it jams and ends up hurting." Roux made an odd face. It showed both amusement and the spark of an idea.

"Try again," she said simply, standing a pacing again. Torsten complied, but knew the futility of his actions. He visualised the Crest, poured prana into it and once again felt a pang of pain and his prana halt as it progressed down his arm. Roux immediately noticed.

"Again," she said.

This went on for at least thirty minutes. The pain in Torsten's arm increasing each time he failed, and all the while, Josephine Roux paced back and forth in front of Torsten, observing his every move. The young Master was on the verge of mental breaking point. It was like reliving his childhood failures all over again.

_Why doesn't she understand I can't do this?_ His mind screamed. All the confidence that he had been built up over the course of the War and its endeavours shattered like a pane of glass.

"Enough!" exclaimed Roux suddenly, after witnessing countless failures. She had an idea of what to do. Jo grabbed hold of Torsten's right arm, causing him to wince in pain, and dragged the young Master to his feet. "I know exactly what your problem is."

"And what would that be?" snapped Torsten, with more venom in his voice than he intended. The fact that Roux would force him to retry something so futile over and over angered him greatly. Torsten's tone of voice did not seem to affect Jo, who continued on without a care.

"You simply don't _believe_ you can do it right," Jo said, crossing her arms and waiting for Torsten to try and argue his way out of her deduction.

"Hah!" laughed Torsten. "I've done this enough times to know I simply can't do it. Confidence has nothing to do with it." The venom in Torsten's voice was almost palpable. Jo held fast and kept her cool. She knew she was right, after all.

"Really?" she asked. "I find that hard to believe. I bet the first thought in your head when I asked you to try this for me was 'this is going to fail', wasn't it?" Torsten made a 'hmph' sound and tried to walk around Jo to leave.

_How can she not see that I'm just not good enough!_ Roux promptly grabbed Torsten's right arm with a strength that he never imagined could come from such delicate fingers. He froze and hesitated to try and wrench free after seeing Roux's eyes, free of any doubt or anger.

"You're not leaving until you get that Crest working," she said, her voice softening. "I can tell you would fail each time, and I'm sorry I made you do it. I had to be sure why. Simply put, it's all in your head as far as I can see it." Torsten remained still, waiting further convincing.

"If you assume you can't succeed from the start, you'll never use that Crest," Jo continued, lightly tugging on Torsten's arm to direct him back to the bed and stop him from running. With hesitation, Torsten moved closer to the bed and stood still. "You need to believe you can use that Crest. Why? Because you _can_ use that crest. You're an Amsel and that is the Amsel Crest."

"It's not that simple!" argued Torsten. "Crests don't always take, and I was never a good magus in the first place!" Roux shook her head vigorously.

"While it's true that Crests can sometime not be compatible even with blood relatives, you would have had rejection symptoms years ago if that was the case," countered Jo, waving her finger in Torsten's face as if she was scolding a child. "And how can you be an inept Magus if you entered the Holy Grail War? Fought Servants and Masters and survived? Defeated a Master by yourself, no less? You are not the weak thing you make yourself out to be. You are no victim, Torsten Amsel." Torsten's hardened face couldn't help but soften upon hearing this. She had a point.

"Bu-" said Torsten before being interrupted.

"Try again!" Jo said, loudly enough to overwhelm Torsten's opposition.

"I'm not going t-" The Young Master was cut-off once again.

"Try. Again." Jo repeated, slowly and sternly.

"I sai-" Anger was starting build in Torsten's voice once again before he was cut-off for a third time by something he didn't expect at all. Quick as a flash, Jo clasped Torsten's collar and pulled him forward into a kiss. Never having been kissed before, Torsten more or less stared at the girl who he was now sharing an embrace with, her eyes closed as their lips met. Slowly, Torsten wrapped his arms around Jo and fell into the ecstasy of the kiss. For ten seconds, the pair shared an embrace before Roux pulled away, gripping Torsten's shoulders.

"Try again," she said, her face red. "If I can do that, you can do this. Do it." Without a word, Torsten turned to the bed and raised his right hand. He visualised the Crest, poured prana into his arm and thought of what just happened between him and Roux. This time, the prana forced its way painlessly down into his forearm and hit the Crest he visualised. He thought of the spell he wished to utilise, Räumlich Einsturz, as the prana filled the Crest and followed its internal structure to the location of the spell, the Crest becoming visible on his arm as a glowing red beneath his rolled down sleeve. In a sudden release of energy, the spell activated with no chant or warning as Torsten aimed his arm at a pillow on his bed. In a swift motion, he clamped his fist as was his usual ritualistic use of this spell.

"Told you so," said Jo quietly as the pillow was compressed into the size of Torsten's fist, the space around it warping and crushing it. Torsten, with mouth agape at the fact he had finally used the Crest successfully, released his fist. The pillow explosively decompressed, throwing its soft innards all over the bed harmlessly in a rain of white powder.

"Wow," was all Torsten could muster as a smile spread across his face. He turned to face the chair on the opposite side of the bed and trying again, the need to prove it wasn't a fluke of nature the first time at the forefront of his thoughts. Repeating exactly as he had done so before, he clamped his fist in the direction of the chair. With a sickening _SPRAK_ it compressed to the size of Torsten's fist.

"You sure you wanted to crush that chair?" giggled Jo, happy to see Torsten enjoying his new found skills. Upon hearing this, Torsten realised he'd just totalled a perfectly good chair and gently released his fist finger by finger, the decompression acting slower. The crushed shards of woods fell to the floor, with a large cloud of sawdust forming.

"Oops…" said Torsten, looking at his arm and flexing his fingers. The red glow had faded already. He turned to the young woman beside him. "Thank you Jo. Really… Thank you." She shook her head.

"I didn't do anything but remind you that you aren't as weak as you think," Roux said. "You could use that Crest at anytime, provided you _knew_ you could. But…" She trailed off and looked away.

"But… what?" prompted Torsten.

"Well… You don't need to tell Saber that I kissed you alright?" she asked hushed and hurriedly. "The guy won't drop it if he finds out." Torsten let out a nervous laugh and nodded.

"That's not very fair there, lass!" came a thick Scottish accented voice from the bedroom door. The pair of Masters spun to see Saber standing in the doorway, his bright white teeth visible within his bushy beard. Jo immediately went beetroot red. "Good one, lad." He gave Torsten a wink, to which the young man replied with a nervous smile.

"I have already told you! I am no 'lass'!" Jo yelled at the Scottish Servant. "And don't you dare bring this up again!" Saber motioned a 'calm down' gesture with his arms as he walked into the room, observing the exploded pillow and disintegrated chair.

"Aye, aye, alright! Don't get your panties in a knot there, lass," said Saber, ignoring Jo's demands. Before Roux could explode again, Torsten grabbed her by the shoulder and gave her a shake of his head. Saber wasn't going to get the message. At least, not before Roux had an aneurysm trying to force him to. "Well, ye've made some progress then, Master?"

"I can use the Amsel Crest now," said the young Master excitedly. "No more chanting required, and it seems more potent this way too." Saber beamed.

"Brilliant!" the Scottish Servant boomed. "I assume it's thanks to her?" He motioned to Roux, asking the obvious.

"It is," Torsten said. "I owe her big time now." Jo didn't waste any time taking credit for her efforts.

"Torsten didn't need anything but a kick up the backside," she said, hands on hips. "I was just the one to do it." Saber let out a laugh.

"And tae think I was almost gonna' give you a _real_ kick up the backside!" he said, turning to leave. "Well, are ye gonna have somethin' tae eat for lunch, or what?" With a quick and cheeky glance at each other, Jo and Torsten followed the Scottish Servant to go a get some much needed food.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

It's been a while! XD

As usual, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd like to think that things are going to get... interesting from here on out.

Stay tuned for more! :D


	14. Le Passé

Chapter 14  
>Le Passé<p>

The red sky of sunset hung over Lyon as Cecile Prideaux prepared herself for the night's hunt. She dreaded the thought of further combat, but knew it was the necessary evil that would precede the destruction of the Great Grail and the ending of the Holy Grail War on as a whole. An Evil that would beget Justice.

She decided to dress more practical for tonight's endeavours, choosing a pair of pants over a dress and a frilled shirt to match. In her bedroom she closed her closet, happy with her attire for the night ahead, and turned to the rack on the wall that held her scythe. She took it down and sat on the bed, retrieving a kit from under the bed filled with the appropriate cleaning materials and chemicals for her weapon. Caster walked into the room as she dabbed some oils onto a cloth and proceeded to wipe the blade of the scythe.

"Ah, the nightly ritual," the Servant said as he stood just outside the doorway. He found the entering of one's room impolite without permission first. "It's certainly a fine weapon, Cecile." The Master looked up from her careful work and smiled.

"You can come in, you know," she said, Caster entering the room and standing at attention near the door. Cecile couldn't help but sigh at his stringent formality.

_But, he wouldn't be Caster without it,_ she reflected. At the thought, she let out a small chuckle as she returned to her delicate task.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," said Cecile with a warm smile. She them remembered Caster's initial remarks about her weapon. "It is a beautiful weapon, isn't it? It's honestly very hard to imagine something so beautiful being a harbinger of death and pain." Finished wiping the blade with oils, she retrieved a clean cloth to wipe the excess off.

"I never thought it appropriate to ask," Caster suddenly began, clearing his throat from nervousness. "But, how did one such as you become so proficient in such deadly arts?" Cecile just smiled at the question, and continued her work. She had honestly been expecting this question a lot earlier than it was asked. She had obviously underestimated Caster's unwillingness to pry.

"It's rather simply, really," Cecile said, removing the last excess of oil off the blade of the scythe. She switched her focus to the ornate wooden grip, checking for damage and imperfections. "I'm an… unusual Magus. I was not born into a long line of extraordinary Magi, or even a family that knew of Magi. I just had the talent, it seems. An affinity for manipulation of winds and the air…" She trailed off.

"But, how did you actually learn the Art, then?" asked Caster.

"I was noticed by a Magus. I met him while he was on a trip from England here in France. By chance, he noticed that I playing with the leaves in a park by manipulating the wind." Cecile continued to examine the fine wood grips and handle of her scythe, seeming distant from her own storytelling. "He asked how I could do such a thing. At first I was shocked enough to almost run away. I usually tried to keep what I could do secret. I eventually said 'I just can'. He laughed and said I could do more, much more, if I wanted to. I just needed the determination, he said. Being young, I was rather taken by his words."

"So he took you under his wing?" pressed Caster, engrossed in his Master's tale.

"Well, yes and no," Cecile said, finished checking her scythe and convinced it was immaculate as per usual. She propped it against the bed and dedicated herself to her tale. "He talked to my parents…" She trailed off.

"Cecile?" said Caster in attempt to bring his Master back to planet Earth. "Are you alright?"

"Mmm," she said, blinking back to reality and clearing her throat. "I'm fine. Completely fine. Where was I? Right, he talked to my parents. He said he was a scout for a rather prestigious talent school and he spotted me, dancing in the park. My parents were obviously shocked when he walked in with me." Cecile suddenly stood, feeling the urge to pace.

"So, he just started explaining he scouted you? How would that work at all?"

"Pretty easily, actually," Cecile said with a sad smile. Caster simply looked puzzled. "He had asked me on the doorstep what he called a 'very important question'…"

* * *

><p><em>Waver Velvet El'Melloi II kneeled in front of the young girl, only but thirteen years of age. His question could decide her fate and, while she was young, he felt she could answer herself. As anyone should, when their future was concerned. They were just outside the door of a small rustic French house, beautiful in its simplicity. The house of Cecile Prideaux and her parents.<em>

_ "Now, this is important," he said, taking a serious tone for the first time in their mostly frivolous conversation that occurred as they walked home. "You have a special gift. A gift not many others have."_

_ "You mean… I'm special?" the naïve young Cecile Prideaux said to the Magus, desperately hoping she was right. He smiled. _

_ "Yes, you're special, Cecile," Waver said, slightly less serious than before. He found a child's innocence rather disarming and infectious. "And I have a question for you. How you answer will determine what course your life will take. You will have to part with your parents for a time, and come with me to England depending on your answer. We can teach you to use your talents, if you so wish." He inhaled, preparing the question._

_ "Will you come with me, and learn to use the Art? Learn to use your powers?" he asked slowly. The girl before him shifted where she stood, thinking. "Remember, you do not have to do this. The choice is completely yours. And, whatever you choose, will be the right decision for you."_

_ "I…" Cecile began, then stopped. She couldn't say she was unhappy with her life in the south of France. She loved her parents, and they loved her. She had friends and extended family that were all important to her. However, there was the dream of more. Those dreams all people experience at some point in their lives. The dream that you are special, and fate has something special in store for you. It was that most selfish of dreams that left no room for doubt, as she saw it. "I will. I want to learn the Art" _

_ "Are you sure?" asked Waver, pressing the importance of the decision with a hard stare. Cecile vigorously nodded, sure of her choice. "Right. In that case, provided I can talk to your parents about it, it should be fine." Cecile opened the door, Waver following her._

"_Mum, Dad, I'm home! Someone here wants to talk to you!"_

* * *

><p>"So, he convinced you parents?" asked Caster, incredulous. Cecile nodded. "And they bought it?" After a hesitation, she nodded once more.<p>

"I think he used a little bit of the Art to help with his story," said Cecile, still pacing back and forth. Her brow was furrowed. "Memory Manipulation, most likely. Regardless, they agreed that I could go. I didn't go right then of course. It was like changing schools, basically. Only I was changing to a boarding school in England that catered to the arts as far as my parents knew. The fact it was really dedicated to _the_ Art, was never revealed to them."

"Well, that explains your mastery of the Art, but, what about that vicious implement there?" said Caster, gesturing to the scythe now propped against the bed. Cecile quickly went from a frown to a sad look. "I- I don't mean to pry, Cecile. I should have known my place." The Servant went rigid and gave an apologetic bow.

"No, no," said Cecile, forcing Caster up from his bow. "It's alright. You have the right to know about my past. I'm well informed about yours, after all, Caster." She smiled for the Servant's benefit, but it was achingly obvious that it pained her to do so. Caster wished he hadn't brought it up. The Servant stayed silent however.

"I think we should adjourn to the living room," Cecile said, leaving her bedroom with Caster in tow. Cecile chose one of a pair of armchairs to sit in, with Caster sitting in the other, opposite his Master. The living room was open and glowing orange from the dimming twilight above Lyon. Cecile sat rigid in her chair, like a statue.

"Are you sure you want to continue?" asked Caster, knowing his Master was dredging up what seemed to be dark memories. "You have no need to continue if you do not wish so." Cecile simply shook her head and continued her tale.

_If she wants me to know, then I shall listen for her sake…_

"It was less than a week later when I travelled to England, headed for the 'talent' school," Cecile said. "Waver personally escorted me on his return trip, and I began classes immediately. It was… The best time of my life. I made new friends, learned about the world and learned to weave the Art to manipulate the wind in any manner I would see fit. It was, to use a cliché term, magical." Caster was happy to see Cecile finally talking with warmth about her past again.

"Whenever I got a long enough break I would come back to France to visit my family and spend the time only with them. However, it was when I was in England that I learned to use the scythe. I took up some combat and martial arts classes outside of the academy on a whim mostly. Some friends were doing them, and I thought I'd join in. I was told that I had aptitude with the spear, so I kept up with it. I'm no professional fighter, but I gained my abilities and nickname, La Mort du Danseur, from there. I really enjoyed it. I revelled in the thrill of combat, the defeat of a worthy opponent and the satisfaction in my own supremacy." She stopped unnaturally, as if the rest of the tale was some kind of odious thing not to be touched. Caster simply sat silent, waiting for when Cecile was ready.

"However, when I was seventeen, I…" said the Master before trailing off again. "I… I received a message in the middle of a lecture that Waver himself was giving at the Academy. I was taken aside and informed that my parents were dead. Murdered, to be precise." Again, Cecile stopped herself from continuing, as if trying to bury the pain of what she had just said before moving onto more. Caster's face fell and went white at this revelation. The Servant also noticed Cecile's normally relaxed fingers tighter than it seemed possible on the arms of her chair, her knuckles white.

"They were stabbed to death in their own home. Multiple stab wounds each, with nothing taken from the home. They were murdered, it seemed, for the sheer sake of violence," said Cecile, with what Caster recognised as a defensive coldness. The Master was trying to disconnect in ordered to tell her tale. It made Caster's heart ache at its core to know that she had gone through this, never mind having to remove herself from it to explain it. "The culprit was never found. There was one suspect, who was released without charge due to lack of evidence apparently. A young woman, found near my home on the night of the crime. It turns out she was a vagrant of some description, drifting from town to town on what she could earn anywhere. I only ever saw one photograph of her, of which I remember little. She had jet black hair and a stare that… chilled me to the bone." Cecile seemed to notice the pressure she was exerting on her fingers and released them, rubbing her hands together to massage away the tension. "She was released thanks to a lack of evidence. Probably only picked up thanks to a lack of solid identification and proximity to the crime scene anyway."

"But, I digress," she said, no longer looking at her Servant, but through him. It was clearly getting harder not to breakdown into tears, her voice breaking at points. "I… I returned home that night, and the funeral was held two days later." Caster sat wild-eyed and in silence. He could not, in all his wisdom, determine what to say to what he had been told. Before he could even think of a way to comfort his pitiful Master, she spoke once again.

"I blame myself," she said, quietly as if to keep it secret and let it out all at the same time. "If… I had been home, I could have protected them. I could have done _something_. Instead, I was away, learning how to brutalise and to bring pain. Learning how to be exactly what took my parents from me." She stopped once more, now staring at Caster, pain in her eyes. However, she did not shed a tear and a sad smile was spread across her face.

"My dear Cecile," said Caster rising from his chair to kneel in front of his Master. "You cannot blame yourself for the actions of another. It was the murderer who took you parents from you. It may have been that woman they found, it may have been another, however it was most certainly not you!" She shook her head.

"No, Caster," she said, voice deathly quiet. "If I never left them, I could have done something. But I did leave them. So now, I'm here, in the Holy Grail War." Her head dropped so that Caster could not see it past a veil of hair. Once again, Cecile interrupted her Servant.

"I must put an end to the violence that stalks the Earth as much as I can," she said, her face still hidden beneath her hair. "I must use my despicable skills in what ways I can to help people."

"But why?" blurted Caster, confused by his Master's logic.

"Because," she said raising her head, her face adorned with a heartbreaking smile. "That is my punishment." Caster's eyes went wide.

_My dear Cecile…_

* * *

><p>The time was almost immeasurable to the creature sealed within the dungeons of the Church. As it lay on the cold stone floor, only the light of the cast iron chandelier above it gave an illumination to the stark chamber.<p>

Upon releasing vicious flames from its mouth as its prey escaped days earlier, it had simply lumbered over to the centre of the room, surrounded by the broken chains that once contained it, and collapsed. Its appearance had changed drastically since it fought the priest. Its skin looked smooth, but had already formed miniscule spikes like scales when it broke free. They proved effective against the Homunculus' enemy, acting as a painless way to inflict heavy bleeding.

The creature now looked built, no longer a sinewy and genderless abomination. It looked male and had pitch black hair growth on its head that was unkempt and shoulder length. The most striking development, however, was the formation of a face.

Its mouth was much like the one that formed earlier, only more human, with incredibly thin lips. The eyes that had formed were striking gold and were rather small sized. Ears had formed, bearing harsher lines than that of a human's, and almost appearing jagged.

It lay quivering, as its body was wracked with pain from accelerated development. Complex thoughts and desires permeated the Homunculus' brain, as its ability for higher thought formed swiftly. It already knew what it wanted to do. What it was destined to do since its creation. However, with its new found capacity for thought, it could now plan and scheme. It had spoken to the priest before he fled, however this was a result of a mental imprinting of knowledge; a primal reaction to the situation borne from the true identity of the creature.

While it was still a writhing mass of forming and reforming flesh, it would concentrate on the next task it needed to complete before venturing out to meet its destiny. With this in mind, a single word formed within its mind:

_Ser… vant… _

* * *

><p>It was late, and both Jo and Torsten were discussing plans for the night while Saber and Lancer stayed by Father Chevalier once again. Lancer sat by the priest, despite his adamant stance that he needed no on-hand care. Saber couldn't help but chuckle at his new ally's stalwart stance with regards to her Master's commands as he sat once again against the wall of the living room.<p>

"Can you help me here, Saber?" asked the priest. He had gotten much livelier over the course of the day, but his voice still betrayed the weakness that kept him lying on the couch. "Surely you can talk some sense into to her. I need no one to wait on me." Lancer simply sighed and looked at Saber her eyes daring him to speak. The Scottish Servant took up her silent challenge.

"Ye know…" Saber began, pausing and thinking hard before continuing. "If he disnae want anybody to tend to him, isn't that making him uncomfortable? I don't think the young lass would like that." Faced with this paradoxical dilemma, Lancer could only sit silently in confusion with her vivid blue eyes wide in shock.

"When I asked for help, I didn't want you to break her, Saber," chuckled the priest, trying to limit the movements caused by his small bout of laughter. Lancer stood swiftly from the chair, her brow furrowed and showing her teeth in scowl. She turned to face Saber who smiled back as innocently as possible.

_She cannae be that mad…_

Lancer mouthed something, her voice barely audible. She lowered her head, obscuring Saber's view of it. Chevalier, however, caught a glimpse of the expression on her face. He made an alarmed expression at Saber, who seemed oblivious to what was going on.

"What was that?" the Scottish Servant asked, still smiling.

"How dare you!" she yelled, raising her head to show an enraged face. "I am simply following my Master's orders as I should! I don't need to be criticised for doing right by my Master!" Lancer's eyes burned into Saber's face. His smile slowly dropped to something like frustration. He stood, their comparable heights apparent. Lancer was slightly shorter, but her fierce gaze displayed a supreme confidence to the giant of a man in front of her. The pair stared at each other for at least a full minute. Chevalier, a witness to it all, lay in silence as he watched the pair simply burn holes into each other's heads.

"I apologise if I offended ye, lass," said Saber suddenly, with a stern voice and an unfaltering gaze, conceding his defeat.

"I accept your apology on the condition that you no longer refer to me as 'lass'. I have told you before, I am to be referred to as Lancer," she replied, with a voice equally as tight and stern.

The pair remained standing and staring for another few seconds before Lancer took her seat once again and shut her eyes, feigning disinterest. Saber sat back down, smirking.

_Well… That was interesting,_ thought the Priest, staring at the Servant sitting by his side. He considered mentioning the fact he thought they were a perfect match, however, he decided he'd rather not get beaten in his weakened state and thought better.

After a few minutes, both Roux and Torsten came downstairs, relieving the Servants of their solo watch duties. Lancer gave her chair to Roux, who took it and proceeded to tend to the bed ridden priest, much to his chagrin. Saber stood to greet his Master, giving him a sly wink and a smile that went straight over Torsten's head.

"So, did the twa' of ye come up with a plan?" asked the Scottish Servant, placing a hand on his Master's shoulder.

"We have, Saber," answered Roux. "It's rather simple really. We discussed the matter of what to do at length, and have decided that the best course of action would be operate together on the streets of Lyon, as a coordinated pair. There is no need to hide our alliance, and it serves as safety for the both of us to work together directly. Tonight will be our first hunt for enemy Masters." Lancer nodded solemnly as her Master spoke, while the priest groaned.

"I don't think that is wise, Josephine. While I'm sure the pair of you would make a powerful together, the War has been jeopardised by that Homunculus. I've told you how powerful it is-" The priest voiced his concerns only to be cut off by Torsten.

"I'm sorry Father, but this is the way it has to be. The Church wouldn't help, the Mages Association is likely to do nothing as well. How would we convince the other Masters of your tale? You're bed ridden and it's highly unlikely they'd believe us reiterating what you've said. All we can do is fight to the last." Another groan from the priest.

"Don't you see that once all the other Masters and Servants are eliminated, you will _still_ be left with a rampaging homunculus? The situation is hardly any better if you keep fighting!" Chevalier tried to raise himself on the couch, with Roux attempting to stop him only to be waved away. "Mark my words, this won't end well if you keep fighting!"

"What would you have us do then?" asked Torsten sharply. Chevalier could offer no answer, only letting silence fill the room. "I know you are thinking about our best interests, Father. But, we had already decided this was what we would do. There is simply no other way. I'm sorry." The priest shook his head.

"No, I am sorry. I should not have doubted you. I made the false assumption that your decision was based on impulsiveness and ignored your reasoning earlier." He offered a smile to both Masters. "If this is what you have decided, I will no longer protest. When I am able bodied once again, I shall have to find a way to help the pair of you."

"Thank you, Father," Jo said, returning the smile. "Well, we'd best be off soon, right Torsten?"

"Yeah, it's already dark out. We can start early tonight. You don't mind being left on your own do you, Father?" the priest lay back down on the couch, shaking his head once again.

"I will be fine, you two should not concern yourselves with me," reassured the priest as he shut his eyes and tried to look as relaxed as possible for the two Master's benefit.

"I assume neither of you have objections?" Jo asked to both Servants. Lancer shook her head firmly but vigorously. Saber let out his trademark booming laugh.

"Would it matter I did, lass?" asked the Servant jokingly through his laugh. Brushing off the 'lass' as per Torsten's recommendation, Roux tried to not frown.

"Of course it does. You are people too. You have opinions, and they are valid. Do you think this is the right course of action? Continuing the fight? Cooperating?" Saber flashed a cheeky grin.

"Ooo, I like you, lass. Of course I think its right. The both of ye decided upon it right? Then it is the right course of action." The Servant elbowed his Master in the side, almost knocking him over completely. "Ye've got a keeper there, lad. She knows what she's sayin'! She said it herself, my opinion matters!" Torsten just laughed nervously.

"I think it's time we go," Torsten quickly, moving to leave the room and reach the front door. Roux quickly followed, blushing as a chuckling Saber and solemn Lancer spiritualised behind them.

Torsten reached for the door as Roux grabbed a jacket from the coat stand beside the door, and the pair of Masters left to resume the War for the Holy Grail.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter down! Earlier than I expected, I might add! :)

I hope we were all astute enough to work out the little mystery in this chapter! It has some interesting little implications, I think.

Anyway, I actually have a little something else being worked on right now that, while taking a wee bit of time away from Fate/Gallica, is making some progress! :D

On that note, I may get more delays in schedule soon. Real life has it's ways of ruining fun sometimes, eh? XD

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because I sure enjoyed writing it for you all! Stay tuned. :)


	15. Encore

Chapter 15  
>Magique Rencontre D'Affaires : Encore<p>

The squad positioned themselves down the two streets from which their quarry would approach. The tall French houses, sandwiched together down the street, had been cleared quietly and efficiently, now only occupied by body armour clad, black wraiths. The squad all wore the same SWAT-like uniform, all in black and equipped with a lower face covering mask, combat helmet and anti-flash glasses to cover their faces. They were a terrifying sight, in all their disturbing uniformity.

As the individual teams within the squad took their assigned positions, submachine guns up and in a ready-to-fire stance, select members attempted to access roofs and windowed lofts, equipped with scoped rifles. Their black leather boots moved swiftly but silently up stairs to reach the higher ground that the houses provided.

The entire squad moved with specific purpose without any communications between members whatsoever, their tactics were as natural to them as the air they feigned to breathe. It was not long before all the soldiers were in place; snipers in their holes and close quarters units prepared for the ambush. In the early morning in Lyon, all they could do now was to wait until their unfortunate targets came upon the elaborate trap.

* * *

><p>The dull yellow lamp light did little to raise the spirits of Cecile Prideaux as she strode the street of Lyon in the hunt of an opposing Master. It was late enough that Caster could walk by her side rather inconspicuously. They had been in almost complete silence since the discussion back at his Master's apartment. He had attempted an apology before they left, only to be smiled at and have it shrugged off. He would have preferred to have been yelled at, given the circumstances.<p>

Despite the unusual silence, Cecile did not show any outward signs of being any different than she was before dredging up foul memories. She walked with grace but purpose, her heavy scythe balanced delicately on her shoulder as she walked with her Servant. She had attempted to talk multiple times, only to be stymied by the worried look on her Servant's face. She worried just what her tale had done to him. Before she could once again attempt the arduous task of small-talk, Caster froze.

"What is it, Caster?" Cecile froze in step with her Servant, flipping her scythe into her waiting hands with a simple nudge of the shoulder.

"I can feel the presence of something… It's like a single one of those mindless suits," he said slowly, the concentration on the source of his disturbance clear on his creased face. "I can't feel the presence of its repugnant masters anywhere. Its a few streets away, directly ahead then to the right." Cecile took her scythe in one hand and propped it against the ground as she considered what to do.

"It would seem that there is foul play at work here. I highly doubt that a single one of those things would be sent out. That said I doubt either of those two would be ignorant enough to make the assumption that such an obvious ploy would work. What to do… Your thoughts, Caster?" Caster furrowed his brow further.

"It isn't moving, as far as I can tell. It's simply standing there," the Servant said, relaxing his face and turning to his Master. "It can safely be assumed you are correct, Cecile. It smells of a poorly laid trap. However, they are the last pair I would expect a flawed plan like this from." The pair stood in contemplation for twenty seconds, simply considering their options and waiting for the other to start.

"Do you think you can utilise… It?" asked Cecile suddenly. The already pale skin of Caster went an even brighter shade, looking grey.

"Yes, of course, Cecile," he replied more confidently than he looked. The Master smiled at her Servant's attempt at confidence.

"Well, there's not much use standing here is there now? As much as attacking this ambush head on is rather foolish, there is little else we can do. If we keep our distance from the familiar you sense, we may just be able to avoid springing this little trap." Her smiled turned devilish. It was not a familiar smile to Caster, but he found it hard to resist.

"Then let us take this head on!"

The pair set off in a jog, both on full alert to their surroundings. It was not long before they reached the edge of the block that turned into the street in which the suspected familiar could be found. They stopped before turning the corner, Caster reaffirming its position.

"It's in the middle of the street, just standing there," he said to Cecile as she slowly poked her head around the corner. It was barely recognisable, but there was a silhouette further down the street, given dull life thanks to the street light and faint glow of the moon. She quickly pulled back around the corner.

"It's there, but it would be odd to simply charge at it, no? In fact, it would be foolhardy. We must come up with our own strategy to bait theirs into failure," she mulled to herself.

"I could use 'it' to go down the street. Or, at least manipulate it. Summoning him may not be the best idea right away," Caster suggested. Cecile noted the hesitation in his voice.

"Only if you think you can handle the strain, Caster."

The Servant nodded solidly, without hesitation.

"Then that is what we shall do. Are you ready?" Cecile asked, taking a step back from Caster.

"Of course," said the Servant simply. With a deep inhale and exhale, Caster lowered to one knee and placed a single hand on the ground. The black and featureless shadow behind the Servant billowed and warped for a second.

"Lend me your strength in return for the bargain of my soul, Mephistopheles!"

The shadow suddenly warped incredibly, twisting and contorting, before rising off of the ground and separating from Caster entirely. The Servant was left without a shadow at all, and the strain of pure concentration was clear on his face.

"Caster?" asked Cecile, worried about her Servant.

"Please," he replied sharply, a strange tone of anger in his voice. "I need full concentration."

The shadow started to form a roughly human shape, flickering and wavering. Where what could be described as its head formed, two slit like red eyes opened. It gave a bow to Caster before travelling like an amorphous blob down the street, towards the familiar. Caster's own eyes went red, connecting with his symbiote's, and seeing the world through its blood red gaze.

"It's… still standing there…" Caster forced himself to say through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I am fine. Keep your mind on the task at hand, Cecile."

The Master of Caster moved to the opening of the street to observe the Shadow of Mephistopheles. It moved swiftly down the street, reaching within twenty metres of the familiar easily. With the connected vision, Caster could see that the target was indeed one of the Suits that obeyed Assassin. It simply stood perfectly still, unmoving and unflinching.

"Engulf it," said the Servant, prompting the Shadow to burst forwards and wrap around the still motionless familiar, enveloping it. With a sickening crunch, it compacted the top half of the familiar, the lower half dissolving into silver particles like the suits before it.

* * *

><p>Assassin concentrated on the vision in his head of his Suit being obliterated by the shadowy creature formed by Caster. He knew that a figure such as Faust would be a worthy opponent, wielding dark powers beyond the ken of humanity. As such, planning this trap despite the attributes of Mephistopheles was not easy. But that was part of his 'business strategy' he told his Master whenever his methods were questioned.<p>

The suit eventually dissolved into to nothingness, when Assassin's Master approached.

"The bait?" he asked.

"Taken."

"In your own time then."

Assassin sneered and initiated his plan.

* * *

><p>The Master and Servant stood still and alert for thirty seconds, expecting a trap to be sprung. The Shadow remained active in the street, acting as their own bait. However, nothing happened.<p>

"They must know that they can't achieve anything by hurting that thing…" Cecile said, breaking the uneasy silence that had formed from anticipation.

"Plan?" Caster replied sharply, limiting speech as much as possible. Cecile quickly turned to return to the side of her Servant.

"Perhaps w-" A sharp crack resounded through the streets as a bullet passed through Cecile's left shoulder. She lurched forward as the bullet tore out of her body into the ground.

"CECILE!" screamed Caster, wasting no time and recalling his Shadow to his side. The Shadow forwent any appearance of natural movement and flew at its master as a formless black pool of darkness. With a swift swipe of Caster's hand, the Shadow formed a pitch black barrier to his back, covering the wounded Master as well. "Are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine. We need to move. The shot came from… behind…" Cecile looked at her wounded shoulder. It wasn't pouring blood. The bullet must have missed any major vessels on its journey through her shoulder, but using this arm in combat would be difficult from now on.

"Right, we should get away from he-" Gunfire overwhelmed the Servant's voice. It came from their backs, as fully armed and armoured men charged from buildings surrounding the intersection. The automatic fire from their weapons impacted the wall made by the Shadow, being absorbed into its mass completely. "Shit!"

"C-Caster… Your eyes and voice…" The Master of Caster noticed that her Servant's eyes were now a bright and vivid red, while his voice sounded layered with another more menacing tone that uttered the same words with more venom.

"Ignore that, we have to move! Into the street!" Caster grabbed at Cecile's arm to bring her to her senses. He knew she could move with such a wound. As the armed forces closed in behind them, they charged into the street before them. The soldiers kept their distance, firing behind them with constant pressure, keeping the Shadow wall up behind them.

"They must be… Assassins…" said Cecile through deep breaths as she ran.

"Oh no…" Caster slowed his ran slightly

"What?" Cecile overtook her Servant and turned her head back.

"We've just fallen into the real trap…" Cecile's eyes widened upon her realisation of what Caster meant. Another sharp crack burst through the streets, distinct from the automatic fire behind them. A bullet impacted near Cecile's feet.

"We've ran right into it!"

"I have no choice…" Caster said, the dual tone of his voice become stronger. He swept his hand and the Shadow morphed around both the Servant and his Master. Darkness surrounded the pair, with the only illumination being Caster's abnormally red eyes. Gunfire continued to impact the Shadow, with cracks from rifle fire now continuous.

"Caster, you're not going to...?" asked Cecile, panic in her voice.

"I don't have a choice, Cecile. Just promise me…" The Servant trailed off.

"Anything!"

"That you won't hate me…" With a sad smile, Caster once again made a large swipe with his hand. Before Cecile could reply, the Shadow wall blasted outwards and she readied her scythe.

The Shadow wall blasted outwards with enormous speed, eventually filling the width of the street and flowing down its length. Windows blasted out of houses in the street and soldiers caught by the wall were blasted back by the force of its expansion. Cars rolled and screeched under the wall's pressure. All gunfire ceased as snipers lost sight of their target and foot soldiers were swept up in the mass of darkness.

"I gave you my soul, so lend me your power." Caster's voice resonated unnaturally loud as the Shadow wall halted suddenly and shrunk twice as fast as its extraordinary growth. Soldiers caught in its mass were violently flung to the ground and snipers tried to reacquire their quarry. As the Shadow of Mephistopheles returned to vaguely human shape, Caster and Cecile stood steadfast.

"Why? Why are you smiling like that?" asked Cecile, noticing the sick smile plastered across Caster's face. The Servant barely glanced in her direction before a glint of light from a rooftop caught his eye. With one swift action he hit his Master hard in the stomach with an open palm, taking her off her feet and throwing her out of the way of the sniper's fire, then stretched out his free hand with his index finger pointed at the source of the flash. The Shadow obeyed the silent command and shot at the target, morphing into barely visible black line with vicious points at each end. Before the target could even move their rifle from their face, the shadow blasted straight up the rifle's scope, tearing through the soldier's head, killing it instantly.

The target was dead before Cecile landed hard from Caster's aggressive evasive tactic. Getting up quickly, she noticed the foot soldiers had already readied themselves to charge and the opposite end of the street had dark figures filling its width. They were trapped.

"Hahaha!" Caster cackled like a madman as the Shadow returned to him.

"What's wrong with you? We have to get out of here now!" yelled Cecile, confused.

"Nonsense, Cecile my dear, we just need to deal with this trash!"

The forces closest to them that had been hit by the Shadow wall resumed their attack, starting their automatic fire as they moved down the street. As Cecile made for a move to escape their overwhelming fire, Caster spoke.

"Don't. Move."

The Servant conjured black flame in hand and kept the other unlit. It was then that doors of multiple houses in the street burst open, more soldiers pouring into the street, guns raised and firing. Caster used his free hand to contort the Shadow into a fierce looking crescent blade as wide as the street itself, throwing it at the original group of foot soldiers. All were decapitated as they ran at the Servant, their bodies running multiple steps without their heads before collapsing. Cecile turned to the house closest to her, confronting the soldiers that poured out of them. Trying to ignore the ecstatic laughter emanating from her Servant, she ran at the soldiers, eliminating their advantage of range and attacking them directly. In close quarters, they weren't difficult opponents, but the bullets that they fire were very real. Keeping them close allowed her to fight them effectively. She felled the group closest to her and forced a glance at Caster.

The Servant was clearing the street with horrific efficiency, using the flames to ignite cars and cause explosions to confuse and disorganise the ground troops. The soldiers focused more on survival and defensive strategy now that Caster was on the offensive. The remaining snipers, however, trained their fire, for better or worse, on the Servant as he deflected their shots with the Shadow. As small breaks in the sniper fire presented themselves, the Shadow would suddenly spike forward at an assailant on the rooftops, often taking their entire head clean of their shoulders as it collided with them. It was not long before only two snipers remained and the ground forces made their move.

"Caster…" whispered Cecile, finding it hard to hold back tears as she once again looked at the sick and twisted smile her Servant wore in the face of all the destruction he wrought.

* * *

><p>"Damn. Caster is stronger than I first predicted." Assassin said from the couch of his Master's apartment.<p>

"I thought you said this plan was foolproof?" questioned Cobb, his tone serious. "With these new familiars it shouldn't be a problem, you said."

"Oh, it is. I just never expected him to put up such a fight. The Master seems quite surprised as well." Assassin coordinated the battle skilfully in his mind, trying to gain ground against the might of Caster. His new forces were much more malleable with regards to control; following more than just a simple order and able to understand complex strategies and weaponry.

"Are you sure, Assassin? You didn't even tell me that the less Master and Servant pairs in the War, the more advanced your familiars become. How do I know this isn't a plan doomed from the start?" The incredulous Master stared hard into the Servant that was like his negative mirror image. Assassin broke his concentration and stared back at his Master.

"I didn't tell you _that_ because it wouldn't be interesting that way! Trust your business partner on this one, eh?" The Servant chuckled as he resumed his control over the raging battle across the other side of Lyon. With a heavy sigh, James Cobb left his Servant to his devices.

_His pomp and ridiculousness could destroy our chances in this war…_

* * *

><p>Cecile fought efficiently in the face of the many familiars. The sheer number of attackers from all buildings down the block was enough to steal away any thoughts of offensive manoeuvres. Instead, she concentrated on constant motion to put each familiar's aim into disarray as she tore by them with her scythe, taking down those she could. Every few seconds, she would hazard a glance at Caster.<p>

"Music to my ears!"

Caster cackled as the Shadow of Mephistopheles threw a parked car at a group of familiars, morphing into a vicious and enlarged claw that sprouted from the ground to do so. Most avoided the actual car, but the explosion that followed as the Shadow shot forward and pierced the fuel tank was a different matter. A cacophony of muffled screeches from familiars covered in flaming fuel and the crunching and wrenching of metal did much to warm the corrupted Caster's heart.

Before the Servant could return his attention to battle at hand, his lapse in concentration allowed a familiar a clear shot before the Shadow returned to it's guard duty. From the left of Caster, behind a crumpled car, automatic fire burst. The Shadow sped to block the rounds, only to arrive too late. A single round bore into Caster's side and lodged there, his wicked smile faltering to a look of horror.

"Wh-What?"

He placed shaking hands to the hole in his side as the Shadow encapsulated him to protect from fire on all sides. In the dull red light of the Shadow's eyes, the black liquid that poured from his wound onto his hand looked like a thick soup of his own innards.

_wHy HolD BACK?_ A strained voice echoed within the prison made by the Shadow.

"Get out…" whispered Caster, vexed by his wound.

_HAHA! YoU hAve NO pOWeR wIThOut ME! LET YOURSELF GO!_ The rasping voice turned into an almighty screech as Caster clutched at his head. It was racked with pain as if there was something inside tearing it's way out.

"No… I can't… Cecile…"

_yOU have NO CHOICE!_ The pain in Caster's head intensified, his vision blurring and his balance becoming unstable. All mental resistance that the Servant could muster was faltering as the Shadow of Mephistopheles penetrated his mind and seeped into his consciousness.

_bReaK!_ Caster froze, head clasped in his hands, black tar oozing down the side of his head from the hand soaked in it. It was then that he let out an almighty scream.

The sphere that cloaked the Servant tore away in long strips and barely held its shape against the scream. The torn shreds of the pitch black sphere contorted and wavered before wildly starting to flail with a certain element of focus. They extended into long black tendrils, thrashing the ground and tearing up the pavement. Anything caught in their path were obliterated, with familiars being decapitated and blasted apart left right and centre while trying to flee the terror before them. The most unlucky were those that remained in place and returned fire, getting seized by a dark tendril, and crushed into two pieces before meeting their merciful end.

Familiars in buildings were not safe either, as the tendrils slammed against the outer walls and burst through the windows, carrying flailing victims out of the building only to viciously slam them into the ground, walls and cars.

Amidst the chaos, Cecile watched on in horror at the figure of Caster still within the sheared and torn sphere of shadows. He still clutched his head and kept screaming as the barbaric deeds were carried out around him.

"What have I done… Caster…"

A single tear ran down Cecile's face as a tendril slammed the ground inches to her left. The shards of pavement blasted outwards and past her face, but nothing could distract her from the pitiful figure of her broken Servant.

"I deserved it all… And I deserve this… I'm sorry, Caster…"

It was then that Cecile could not help but smile. A small but sad smile of acceptance of her own fate.

* * *

><p>The familiars down the opposite end of the block stood guard, as per the instructions of Assassin. They positioned much the same way as the familiars surrounding the intersection that Caster and Cecile entered: Ground troops filling the buildings with sniper cover from roofs and second floor windows.<p>

However, Assassin's direct control and manipulation of the battle raging down the street had meant they were acting completely on their own and their vision was not being monitored. As such, it was to his complete surprise to find them start to vanish quickly, one by one.

"Shit"

* * *

><p>Lancer and Saber had easily garnered the attention of all the familiars in the intersection by simply charging into one of the buildings occupied by them at full speed. It was a simple matter in such a small space to dispatch an entire floor easily, each familiar bursting into silver particles before completely fading.<p>

Lancer tore her spear from a fallen familiar before it faded. Saber couldn't help but try to size it up. It was exceptionally long, but also incredibly light and thin. So light, Saber noticed it bend like a thrown spear while the female Servant wielded it with a grace he had never seen in battle.

"That's quite a weapon ye've got there," said Saber, quickly moving for the front door of the house they just cleared, ready to move on. Removing a hand from his blade, he opened the door. He turned to Lancer. "Quite some skill too."

Lancer replied by throwing her spear directly at Saber. The Scottish Servant ducked the thrown weapon by falling onto his back, eyes wide with confusion. As Saber's head fell backwards he saw the spear go over him and fly straight into a black clad familiar that had been about to unleash automatic fire into the doorway Saber once stood in front of.

"Come on, concentrate." Lancer strode past the floored Saber, raising her buckler against any possible rain of fire. "Keep your mind on the fight or we're both done for."

"Aye, aye, I get it," mumbled Saber as he got to his feet and replaced his hands on his blade. "I suppose we should regroup with the lad and lass then, aye?" Lancer nodded in agreement as she retrieved her spear from in front of the building. It was then that gunfire proceeded to erupt from buildings surrounding the intersection. All directed at the now open Lancer.

"Let's go!" Lancer took off, Saber following low. Lancer's buckler absorbed a lot of fire, never losing its shape or lustre in the process. Saber, not having the convenience of his own shield, caught up to the blonde Servant quickly to try and hide his bulk behind her protected frame. It proved difficult considering the immense differences in each Servant's size, but the pair made it behind a car before Saber was hit.

"Bloody hell! That was a close one, eh?" Saber slumped against the car as it was pummelled by bulletfire. He took a quick look to his right, observing the house across the road. A familiar burst out the front window before dissolving into silver particles. "Looks like the lad and lass are making progress."

"Indeed. And Roux is no 'lass', as I'm _sure_ has been mentioned before." Lancer's gaze shifted from the fading familiar to Saber's face.

"Aye, whatever. Ready to go again?"

"Of course, I was waiting for _you_." Lancer raised an eyebrow an affected a rare smile and, even rarer, a cheeky one at that.

"Of course you were. Now, lead on, or I'm going to get shot to pieces out there." Saber readied himself to make a run from behind the car as Lancer raised herself buckler first.

"Ready?" she asked.

"When you are, lass," replied Saber with his own cheeky smile. Lancer simply groaned and charged out from behind the car, bullets pummelling the buckler and the ground around her as Saber tried his best to hide behind her. The lack of coverage Lancer could provide allowed a round to pass through Saber's shoulder, tearing a hole through his body.

"Fuck me!"

The pair neared the house that contained their Masters. The gunfire from other surrounding buildings intensified and sniper fire began in earnest. It was only thanks to the speed of the superhuman Servants that they avoided the fire long enough to crash through the bullet ridden front door of the house.

Saber immediately called out. "Torsten!"

"He's upstairs!" yelled back the familiar voice of Roux. The sound came from just around the corner. The Servants kept moving and found Roux simply staring down what seemed to be the last familiar on the floor. Her left eye bright yellow, the familiar seemed to be writhing is agony simply thanks to the stare of Josephine Roux. It was only seconds before it arched its back violently and froze before fading away. Roux quickly shut her eyes then reopened them to reveal her usual vivid blue irises.

"I told you, he's upstairs. Go!"

Lancer moved to her Master's side while Saber shot up the stairs down the hallway. The upstairs was rife with bullet holes from a great battle, and Saber ran past each open room, observing the chaos within, hoping to find his Master safe and sound.

"Torsten!"

"Last room!" replied Torsten from further down the hall.

Saber arrived at the doorway to find Torsten sitting on a ragged bed, holding his arm. There was blood pouring down his sleeve. The Scottish Servant leapt to his Master's side.

"Are ye alright?" asked Saber, his worry clear. Torsten just laughed.

"I'm fine. Really! I took a bullet through the forearm at the start of the raid. It went right through and didn't seem to hit much… Lucky again I guess?" Saber sighed and dropped himself on the bed next to his Master, almost tossing him off the bed.

"Well, that's a load off my mind. You watch yourself, Master," said Saber, sounding stern.

"Good to know you were worried about me, big guy!" laughed Torsten, tearing the sleeve off his shirt to reveal the bloody hole in his arm.

"Of course I was worried! You're my Master ye twit!" Saber took Torsten's arm roughly and gave it a check, which involved wrenching it every which way and observation from all angles. "Your right, it'll be fine, nae worries."

Grimacing, Torsten took back his arm. "Thanks…" He wrapped the torn shirt around his upper arm and tied it tight.

"Alright, best check on the lasses?"

"Sounds like a plan!"

The pair headed downstairs to find Lancer and Roux waiting. They both looked a little more than angry.

"Where were you two? We need to move and fast!" yelled Jo. She still looked as impeccable as she did when the raid of the house began. It was hard to believe that she was involved in the same battle as the bedraggled Torsten.

"Right, what's goin' on out there?" asked Saber, moving to the smashed front window.

"I'm not exactly sure. There's a cacophony coming from down the street these guys were positioned around. However, these familiars don't seem to be leaving the houses they occupy." Roux paced around the room as she thought aloud.

"That didn't stop one from almost blasting me outside the front door…"

"Must not be an absolute then?" Roux mused to herself, hearing Saber's mumblings. "At least it's pretty obvious whose goons these are…"

"Listen, I think we need to just keeping moving," Torsten suddenly said. "These guys will learn not to wait. Or Assassin will tell them not to wait. We can't waste any more time."

"You're right Torsten, we'd better move," Roux said, with Lancer nodding in approval and Saber giving his Master a winding slap on the back.

The group readied themselves at the demolished front door which had been trampled as Lancer and Saber entered, preparing from the onslaught that awaited then. Both Masters took deep breaths and looked at each other, giving a nod. Like horses from a starting gate, the four charged out the front door, ready for the mayhem.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Next chapter down for the count! As usual, I hope everyone enjoyed it! :D

Things are getting dicey, eh? XD

Just another little reminder: Life has it's way of interrupting fun stuff like this, so I'll try my best to have a release schedule of sorts but it isn't easy!

Tune in next time! ;D


	16. Sang Des Innocents : Part 1

Chapter 16  
>Sang Des Innocents - Réalisation<p>

In the complete chaos that Faust and Mephistopheles were wreaking, the familiars of Assassin had lost their focus on Cecile Prideaux as she stood stunned by her own Servant's brutality.

"No… No…" She murmured to herself as she watched her Servant tear the familiars apart and obliterate the street and buildings. In the centre of the mass of still writhing and contorting black tendrils, Caster now started to calm and collect himself. However, as Cecile peered through the obscuring black mass, she could see a sick smile plastered across her Servant's face.

"ENOUGH!" Caster suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs, the Shadow of Mephistopheles expanding outwards once again, blasting what few familiars remained through the air and into what remained of buildings and cars surrounding the street. The shadow returned to its master quickly, forming an almost cape like shape on his back.

"C-Caster?" stammered Cecile, taking slow, hesitant steps towards her Servant. He made a small glance in her direction, his smile dropping to something akin to disinterest. It was then, however, that the movements of a few remaining familiars trying desperately to escape caught his eye. His smile returned.

"Hold that thought, Master," the Servant said, he voice dripping with a sick sort of pleasure. "Just a few more." Caster snapped his fingers and the Shadow of Mephistopheles burst from his back into long spikes, one for each remaining familiar. One or two that were dragging themselves away were pierced through the head. Three that were able to run attempted in vain to dodge their pursuers, only to be pierced through the heart and brutally slammed to the ground.

_Caster… No…_

* * *

><p>"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"<p>

"You failed me again, Assassin," said Cobb, standing over the couch where Assassin sat. He looked upon his Servant with the same disdain he would with disobedient child. His Servant looked up at him, enraged.

"Don't give me that shit! I don't need to be told when I've failed!"

"Perhaps you do, since you've not succeeded even once!" Cobb's usual cool demeanour gave way. "All this talk of grand plans, schemes and ventures has come to naught! I hardly think I ought to trust your judgement anymore as a result." Assassin's eyes narrowed.

"You _dare_ insinuate I am lacking as a Servant?" hissed the Servant slowly standing to meet his Master eye to eye.

"You leave me with no other insinuation to make!" To Cobb's surprise and chagrin, upon answering his Servant, Assassin burst into exaggerated laughter.

"Hah! You'll see then! You must give me _time_ Master. I told you before, when you summoned me? All it takes is time, and we shall win. In any case, another Master and Servant will be dead by sunrise. Maybe two pairs is Caster and that bitch somehow overcome a double-team." With a thin smile, Assassin made to leave the room.

"How do I know I can trust you, Assassin? How do I know you are not playing _me_ for a fool?" asked Cobb, not even turning to face his doppelganger as he left him behind.

"It's rather simple. You can't, but you must… _partner_." With that, Assassin left the lounge room and his Master behind. James Cobb gave a derisive snort before striding to a wall mounted drinks cabinet and taking a bottle of single malt Whiskey and a shot glass.

* * *

><p>"Stay away!" screamed Cecile as Caster took a step towards her, shocking even herself with her disturbing knee-jerk reaction. Caster froze in place, his sick smile returning as he let out a small chuckle.<p>

"Whatever is wrong, Master?" The Servant found it hard not to sound amused while asking his question.

"N-nothing, just… Are you in there, Caster?" asked Cecile, her heart pounding as she looked on the figure of her Servant before her. She could hardly believe that this thing that looked just like her Caster was indeed the same person.

"Now, what kind of question is that? Of course I'm in here. I'm your Caster." The Servant once again started to move towards his Master, who appeared unconvinced by his answer but unable to reject the man walking towards her. "We're about to have visitors, Master, look sharp!"

"W-What? Oh my god, more of them?" Cecile took up her scythe.

"No, it seems Assassin's forces are vanquished entirely!" laughed Caster as he reached his Master's side. She noticed the Shadow of Mephistopheles clinging to his back as if it hung there adorning it. "It's something _far_ more interesting!" Cecile's stomach churned at the delight in her Servants voice. However, she had to focus on the task at hand.

"A Master and Servant?"

"_Masters_ and _Servants!_" replied Caster with an inane grin. "Oh, here they are now!"

* * *

><p>It was like an entire war had been fought in one street. The shredded road, demolished buildings and burning cars made an eerie scene for the pair of Masters. Saber and Lancer insisted on taking point as they moved towards the apparent cause of all the chaos that surrounded them.<p>

"I think whatever was caught here… Won…" said Jo, slowly moving down the street on her guard. Torsten shot her a grim glance. It was too easy for Roux to see the fear in his eyes. "We'll be fine Torsten. We're in this together, right?" The young Master nodded, but dared not speak as if to not alert the beast that had made this street its den.

"There in the distance! It seems they are waiting for us, lad and lasses!" said Saber suddenly as he caught sight of two figures standing in the dull light of the few remaining lamps that functioned.

"Stay calm, and we'll get through this fine," reassured Lancer, more for Torsten's benefit than anyone else's. Her words did little to help assuage his fears. Only a monster could have done this.

The small walk up the street to face their foe felt like it took hours. They stopped about twenty metres from the two figures to find a young woman wielding a scythe and looking almost as petrified as Torsten and a tall and gaunt looking man with a cape of pure black shadow. Torsten could not help but focus on the disturbing smile on the man's face. It reminded him of a person he wished dearly to forget.

"Good evening! Or should I say morning?" said the tall gaunt man first, bowing to the newcomers. Saber and Lancer exchanged glances, as did Torsten and Roux. "I am Servant Caster, and this is my Master, Cecile Prideaux. Pleased to make your acquaintance!"

"I am Josephine Roux, Master of Lancer and this is Torsten Amsel, Master of Saber." Roux took the initiative, gesturing to the appropriate Servants who both nodded to their opponents.

"What's the matter with her? Cannae she speak for hersel'?" asked Saber, motioning to Cecile with the hilt of his sword.

"I can speak," said Cecile suddenly and gruffly, affecting a façade of strength for her foes. "So, you two are working together?" She raised her scythe into a combat ready stance, Saber and Lancer quickly tightening their own stances.

"Indeed we are," replied Roux, emanating confidence of her own to test Cecile's. "We fight as a team in this War."

"Haha, how precious!" Caster interjected, laughing. "What are you two? An item? Or is he just your mana supply, young Josephine?" Roux's jaw dropped, stunned and Torsten almost fell over.

"Caster!" hissed Cecile, her façade of confidence broken. "What is wrong with you? Why are you like this?" The Servant made a shrug at his Master, unsure of just what taboo he had committed.

"-dare you…" Roux turned to see Torsten, head down, mumbling something.

"What?" Jo leaned into hear her partner better. Suddenly, Torsten flung his head up, his face reflecting an anger that Roux had never seen from him before.

"How dare you insinuate that Roux would use me! How dare you mock her! She would never do anything like that, you sick bastard!" screamed the angry young Master, shaking like he was being held back from charging at Caster. There was a moment of silence where Cecile, Roux and Caster simply stared at Torsten, speechless. Lancer and Saber held fast, however, wearing smirks of approval. It was Caster who broke the silence, cackling with delight.

"Oh ho ho! So the young man has some spunk!" Caster ended his retort through gritted teeth, restraining himself from making an outburst he so wished to make.

"Caster! Whatever is wrong with you?" Cecile asked again, looking worried.

"Why, nothing is the matter, dear Master," Caster said, his voice only gentle whenever addressing anything to her. "You seem flustered. Tell me, are _you_ alright?"

"I… I'm fine…" said Cecile, with a certain level of sorrow that didn't go unnoticed by either Torsten or Roux.

"Good! In that case…" Caster paused and bowed his head low.

"In that case?" prompted Saber and Lancer in unison.

"Let us begin!" Caster swept up his head, the Shadow of Mephistopheles pouring out from behind him and launching at the Servants and Masters before him.

"Look out!" yelled Lancer as she flipped to one side, avoiding the prehensile darkness. Saber tried to block the pool of shadows, only to be battered to one side. Torsten and Roux were left exposed, caught off guard by the sudden attack.

"Aeris Tractatio!" Cecile, using the opening, charged into the middle of the shadows attacks on the two Servants, running its length swiftly to engage the two Masters.

"Ready?" whispered Jo as their assailant approached.

"Ready," replied Torsten. He formed a knife is his hand, ready to receive an attack when Cecile suddenly dropped from his view.

"Torsten!" Roux tried to block the move, but she was too slow. Cecile had slid to the ground and, using her increased speed through manipulation of the air, launched herself off the ground feet first in a two legged kick. Her entire body flew at Torsten, her feet connecting with his chest and lifting him off the ground.

"Lad!" Saber turned to run to his Master's side when the shadow that still lay to his side wrapped around him and dragged him back, closer to Caster. Lancer avoided being grabbed, but the shadow morphed into a thin blade and made repeated swings at her, forcing her to defend herself.

"Uh-uh! You two are to fight _me_!" chuckled Caster as the Shadow of Mephistopheles separated the Servants from their Masters.

* * *

><p>Torsten was finding it hard to breath after landing violently on his back from Cecile's kick. He had blacked out upon landing on the ground, if only for a few seconds. He raised his head to see Saber and Lancer confronting Caster, Saber caught within the Shadow's grasp. Before he tried to shout out to his Servant, his thoughts shifted to where Cecile and Roux were. Quickly getting to his feet, he spun around to find the pair both quite alive. Roux noticed his recovery.<p>

"Need a little help here, Torsten!" Roux was facing down Cecile by herself, currently backpedalling to avoid sweeping blows of the Master of Caster's scythe. Torsten immediately noticed a large cut down Jo's left arm that was bleeding heavily. Cecile glanced over her shoulder, aware of the approaching Master from behind. With a single deft move she spun around, sweeping her scythe around with her, low to the ground.

"What the-?" Torsten froze on the spot, clearly out of the range of the scythe. Roux leapt over the blade as it passed where she stood.

"Get out of the way! The air!" screamed Roux as she landed away from Cecile. It was then Torsten heard the shrilling whistling from the scythe as the very atmosphere around the moving blade began to distort.

"Oh, shit!" Torsten dropped to the ground as Cecile swept the scythe upwards, the distorted air slung off the blade and streaming towards Torsten. It flew over his head, arced to the side and slammed into a building, tearing through its façade like it was a hot knife sliding through butter.

"She manipulates the air!" stated Roux, lunging at Cecile. The user of winds blocked a punch with the shaft of her scythe, pushing it forward and dislodging Roux from a follow-up.

"Yeah, I think I got that!" replied Torsten, jumping to his once again and charging at Cecile from behind. Cecile released a single hand from her scythe and thrust it over her shoulder, pointing at Torsten.

"Ventus Hasta!" The air distorted in a tunnel towards Torsten, who dodged to the side and kept his fast pace. With a grunt of frustration, Cecile turned back to Roux, who was readying another cycle of blows. Just as Torsten's partner let fly her first kick, Cecile leapt high into the air above Roux, landing behind her.

"Shit!" cursed Roux, the momentum of her evaded kick crippling her ability to turn swiftly enough to defend herself. As Cecile landed and swept her scythe around for a fatal blow on Roux, a scream punctuated the night.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" Torsten leapt right at Cecile with his small blade poised to block the large blade of her scythe. He made it in between Cecile and Roux, his small knife connecting with the scythe. Cecile's eyes widened as the scythe slowed under the pressure of Torsten knife. However, the weight of the scythe toppled the young Master onto Roux and the pair fell backwards.

Roux quickly rolled to the side before Torsten landed on top of her, and Torsten used the momentum from the fall to roll backwards. Both ended up just out of range of a scythe blow, and close enough to make a blast of air impractical.

"I don't admit this to my opponents very often, but you're very skilled," Roux said, buying time to catch her breath.

"I don't need your compliments," Cecile replied, her tongue sharp. Torsten finally got a good look at his opponent. Cecile was, by all regards, very beautiful. She barely even looked out of breath from their exchange. However, she did not look like a Master fit for combat. She instead looked like the saddest person he had ever seen.

"You… Don't want to fight, do you?" asked Torsten suddenly. Roux turned to him in confusion while Cecile stared him down. "I can see it in your eyes. You don't want to be here. You don't want to be doing this." There was a brief pause between the three. It would have been silent, if not for the battle of Servants raging behind them.

"And… What if I don't?" Cecile finally replied, raising her scythe in a battle stance. "What _difference_ would that make?" She repositioned her feet, preparing for another exchange. Roux mirrored Cecile's actions, preparing herself for an onslaught.

"It actually means a whole lot, even though you may not think it." Torsten noticed Cecile's change of stance and ignored it, trying to appear calm.

_Just maybe we can get through this without another death…_

"It means," he continued, "There is no need for us to fight. Why fight if you don't want to? What purpose would it serve?" Cecile remained in her stance, her face like stone and her eyes wavering.

"N-no," she finally mumbled. "I can't listen to you. You're a cold blooded Magus… You wouldn't _understand!_" Cecile's mumbled raised to a shout as she made a vertical lunge at Torsten with her scythe. He heard Roux call out his name as Cecile leapt at him, but Torsten deftly avoided the blow by moving to one side. Roux charged in from Cecile's side, prompting the scythe wielder to twist her weapon around and swing directly at Roux. Torsten used this chance to step forward, right next to Cecile, and grasp the shaft of her scythe. Her blow halted, she quickly tried to lash out with one hand, which Torsten also grabbed, dropping his projected knife in the process.

"Wouldn't understand? Understand what?" Torsten asked, sounding angry. Roux stared on in confusion at the spectacle before her. Not know what to do, she simply remained quiet and prepared to strike if necessary. Cecile tried to struggle from Torsten's grip, but he held fast.

"Why should I explain myself to you!" she screamed, desperately trying to free herself. She couldn't let go of her weapon or it would all be over. She was at the mercy of the young man holding her. "You do not have blood on your hands like I do!"

"Blood on my hands? Is that what this is all about?" Torsten yelled back at Cecile. "I'm a _cold blooded Magus_. You said it yourself! You think I don't have blood on my hands? You think I don't understand death? You think this is all just a game of who is guiltier than who?" Cecile only continued to struggle to remove herself from Torsten's grasp. To her surprise, he relinquished his grip on her and she jumped backwards, out of range.

"Torsten! What the hell are you doing?" Rous asked, shocked even more by Torsten's actions. He held up a hand to her and gave her a glance. Roux swallowed her words and kept silent. The look in Torsten's eyes was as sad as the woman they were fighting's eyes.

"I have blood on my hands," Torsten said, as Cecile regained a fighting posture only to stand and listen. "I sullied my hands in this War, trying to forge ahead from some stupid, naïve whim. I stole the life of a person to remain standing here today. A vile, pitiful creature, but still a person." He paused, taking a breath.

"Adelheid Rotmensen, was her name…" he said slowly, dragging the pain of what he had done back to his consciousness. However, Cecile's normally soft posture stiffened at the utterance of that name. Her eyes widened in horror at the young Master before her, who looked startled at her reaction.

"What did you just say? What was the name of the one who you killed?" asked Cecile, her voice tight and dry as if struggling to leave her throat. She swallowed while Torsten stared in alarm at her change in demeanour.

"Adelheid Rotmensen…" repeated Torsten softly, hating to have to say those words again. There was a clatter as Cecile dropped her scythe. Torsten blanched at the sound and Roux gasped as Cecile herself dropped to her knees.

"She was here… She was here all along… That name… _That name…_"

* * *

><p>Saber struggled within Caster's grasp for only a few seconds before he ripped his sword downwards through the pitch black shadow ensnaring him. The darkness split, allowing him to jump free before it stitched itself back together.<p>

_Bloody hell… It can't die?_

Lancer was still fending off numerous blows from another of the Shadow of Mephistopheles' tendril. While the Servant was matching the shadow blow for blow, she was still unable to dislodge it enough to check on her Master. Saber glanced at the fight ensuing between the Masters, noticing Torsten raise himself from the crushing blow that Cecile had inflicted. He let loose a relieved sigh.

"The twa' o' them are fine! Concentrate on Caster!" yelled Saber to Lancer, she reciprocated with small nod of her head as she deflected a blow from the shadowy mass before her.

"Concentrate on me all you like," uttered Caster, standing back while the Shadow of Mephistopheles did the work for him. "It won't help!" Sweeping up with his hand, the shadow reacted by billowing over Saber, who was trying to charge towards Caster himself.

Saber was forced to roll backwards, lest he get impacted by the wall of darkness that burst forth in front of him.

"We have to work together!" Lancer yelled from behind Saber, still adamantly fending off attacks. "Whatever power this is, it's too much for use to handle by ourselves!" Saber backpedalled to Lancer's side, taking the opportunity to slice hard into the tendril attacking her while it was preoccupied. It immediately went limp, letting Lancer move out of the way before it reformed.

The pair of Servants, now prepared to counterattack, stood together in front of Caster and his shadows. Noticing that Lancer was out of breath from her exchange with the tendril, Saber tried to by time for the both of them.

"So, what is this thing?" said Saber, gesturing to the writhing mass of darkness before him and Lancer. Caster laughed, withdrawing the shadows to his back once more.

"This 'thing' is me. The _real_ me! If you cracked me open, you would only find this buried in my heart!" Caster dramatically extended his arms to match with his overripe answer. His eyes looked maddened.

_Another crazy one…_ Thought Saber.

"You didn't answer his question," said Lancer, taking a step forward and raising her spear. She turned and whispered to Saber. "Charge in and keep his focus on you. I have a plan."

"What happened tae teamwork?" whispered back Saber, only half-joking at the prospect of being the bait. Lancer made a dry smile.

"You're a tough guy. Surely you can handle it?"

Saber just grimaced, their conversation then interrupted by a whipping black tendril from Caster. The pair of allied Servants jumped away from each other as the shadowy limb thrashed the ground where they were just standing.

"What are you two whispering about? Its poor form to have secret little discussion when with company!" Caster withdrew the tendril before extending both arms in front of himself, as if he were about to play an invisible piano. "I think it's time I got serious…"

With a quick look at each other, Saber and Lancer nodded. Caster swept down his arms to his sides, the Shadow of Mephistopheles raising from around his back and slamming the ground violently in front of him. Shards of concrete were thrown up into the air, along with a thin veil of dust, through which Saber and Lancer could catch a glimpse of their opponent's now borderline maniac expression.

Without a word, Saber took off in a direct assault against Caster, reaching the shadowy mass that hard formed a wall between him and his target with a few strides. The Scottish Servant unleashed a flurry of sword swipes, lacking in power but with heightened speed. The darkness before him shredded like fabric, only to be stitched up of its own accord. Caster gave a laugh as spikes blasted from the shadow at Saber, forcing him to parry.

"How about this?"

A sweeping thin shadow swept the ground at knee level to Saber, starting from his right and promising to slice off his legs. As the tendril approached, the Scottish Servant jumped and landed on top of the moving shadow. A further blast of spikes came from the black mass before him, which he used as foot holds and ran part way up the wall of darkness.

Lancer took off at speed as Saber began to climb, charging straight for her ally's back. With a great leap, she scaled the bottom of the shadow and landed gracefully on Saber's shoulders. The pair of Servants smiled at Caster, who looked on in surprise.

"What the hell?"

Lancer swiftly coiled herself and jumped from Saber's shoulders, clearing the shadow wall. Caster's surprise turned to horror as he realised what was happening. Lancer let out a great yell as she started her descent, flipping over to have her downwards and pointing her spear right at Caster. The speed of the falling Servant was so great that the Shadow of Mephistopheles could not react in time, leaving Caster to avoid the blow himself.

_SHUNK._

"Aargh!" screamed Caster as his efforts to dodge prevented his death, but could not prevent the spear from plummeting straight through his thigh as he had tried to back away. The spear blasted through his flesh and struck the ground, Lancer upside down and her head at Caster's own head's level. She flashed a smile before flipping backwards onto the ground, tearing the spear out of his leg with the motion. Caster let out another yell of pain and gripped his leg.

"LANCER!" Saber screamed from the other side of black wall that separated the two. She turned to see the shadow starting to withdraw at speed towards its master. She waited a full second before moving again, Saber confused at her lack of action.

"What are ye doin'? Get out of there!" the Scottish Servant screamed, beginning to charge in behind the withdrawing shadow to help. Lancer just turned back to Caster, the blackness now dangerously close behind her. Caster lit an arm with black flame, only to have Lancer charge right at him.

"DIE!" Caster threw the flame at Lancer who dodged and used his injured and still open leg as a springboard, mounting Caster himself and then making a small jump to his still extended arm. Saber stopped in his tracks, letting out a laugh as Caster moaned in pain from his leg being stepped on.

Now atop Caster's arm, Lancer flipped backwards. She flew over the Shadow that was rushing back to its Master and landed only a few feet from Saber.

"You have some fine moves there, Lass!" roared Saber, energised from the display before him.

"I'd like to think so," said Lancer, pleased with her own handiwork. The shadows flowed back to and around Caster, however, instead of latching to his back like a cape, it swept up behind him like a pair of demonic wings, flickering and wavering as if it were unstable.

"Oh ho ho…" chuckled Caster inanely, shaking his wounded leg like it no longer hurt anymore. It was then that Saber and Lancer noticed something strange about their opponent's wound. Instead of crimson blood, it was a thick black tar that seeped from the wound. Lancer raised her spear and observed the substance on the blade. It reeked of malevolence itself, as if it were an entity all its own.

"Be on guard," Lancer warned Saber. "I think we may have enraged the beast." Before Saber could reply, Caster cut in.

"Now you've done it. That wasn't very nice, calling me a beast," the injured Servant said, sweeping his thick black hair back. "Well, I usually just bite my finger to draw blood, but you've done the job for me. For that I thank you!" He gave an exaggerated bow, the black wings on his back splaying wide as he did so.

"However… I think it's time. You need to know who you're dealing with. You need to get to know the _real me_." Caster rubbed a hand against his wounded leg, covering it in the thick black substance that seeped from it. It was then, to Saber and Lancer's horror, he plunged his hand into his own chest, the sickening crack of his ribs breaking echoing down the street. With a screech of pain, Caster withdrew his hand from his chest violently, holding his still beating heart.

* * *

><p>"What?" Roux and Torsten uttered in unison at the fallen figure of Cecile. She was shaking uncontrollably and looked like she had seen a ghost, her skin suddenly pale.<p>

"That _monster_ killed my parents… In cold blood… It's why I'm here…" Cecile forced the words out as if her very memories were like a vice clamping on her throat. "I never expected I would see her again… Least of all in this War!"

"Y-you mean you weren't here to kill her then?" asked Torsten, taking a step back from the pitiful Magus before him. He didn't understand why he moved away, but something told him it was the right thing to do.

"Kill her?" screamed Cecile, confusion and sadness being overtaken by anger. "I had given up hope of that! I had convinced myself that it was all but impossible to track her down and clear all my guilt!" She grasped her scythe, and slowly raised herself from the ground, still shaking.

"Torsten…" murmured Roux, moving back herself.

"Now…" Cecile continued, taking a lumbering step forward and dragging her scythe across the ground. Its blade screeched across the hard black road they stood on.

"To know that it was within my grasp all along… To know that I could have ended my own torture… To know that the absolution of my guilt has been snatched away…" She lunged at Torsten and Roux, both barely dodging the frenzied attack by jumping to either side of her.

"Is worse than any punishment I've made myself bear!" Cecile turned to Torsten, focusing only on him as if Roux did not even exist and began to launch a string of deadly swipes with her scythe. Torsten projected another knife, parrying what blows he could and dodging the others.

"Torsten!" yelled Roux, her left eye quickly turning yellow as she stared into the back of her ally's attacker.

"No!" Torsten forced through gritted teeth as he deflected a particularly deft blow from Cecile's scythe. "She… She doesn't need that!" He turned his attention to Cecile as Roux fought back the urge to ignore her partner's wishes.

"Cecile!" Torsten called out, ducking a horizontal sweep of her deadly blade. "You have no reason to fight anymore! Why are you doing this? Stop!" Cecile let fly a kick at Torsten's now low to the ground face. It connected sharply and he was flung backwards to just out of range.

"_Why_?No _reason_?" As angry as Cecile was, Torsten found it hard to see anything but sadness behind a cheap façade that was only serviceable thanks to her violent outburst. A violent outburst that, Torsten felt, would have already consumed him if Cecile really wanted to. "By taking the life of Adelheid Rotmensen, I have no way to achieve salvation. All I can do now is to atone. Atone by becoming that what I hate the most!"

Roux charged Cecile from behind, taking her opponent's monologue as a chance to strike without using her eyes. Letting fly a kick, Jo flew at Cecile, only to have her move out the way. Cecile responded with an accurate kick of her own to Roux's stomach, sending her stumbling back and wincing in pain.

"Stay out of this," Cecile said, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks as she turned back to face Torsten.

"You don't want to do this!" Torsten yelled, attempting to get through on last time as he stood and prepared for another onslaught.

"But I have to," replied Cecile, her voice taking on a strange sereneness. It was then that she smiled, raising her scythe and preparing to attack once again. Tears still streamed down her face as she lunged again at Torsten, who was dumbstruck.

_She… She's smiling?_

* * *

><p>"What the bloody hell?" murmured Saber as he gazed upon the still beating heart that Caster grasped in his hand. With each muscular contraction, the heart spurted out the thick black ooze that acted as Caster's life blood. The disturbing substance pooled on the ground in front of the deranged Servant, creeping outwards in a perfectly neat circle.<p>

"H-how is he still alive?" Lancer took a small step back and stiffened her stance. "Oh… Oh, God. I know who he is." Saber glanced from Caster's putrid heart to Lancer then back.

"Oh aye? Care tae share?"

"He's Johann Faust. The German academic who made a deal with a demon: His soul in exchange for everything he could ever want in life," Lancer replied, eyes trained on the heart that gushed black tar. It kept up its rhythmic beating, constantly pouring the dark substance to the ground.

"Oh, aye. I know the tale."

"Correct, fraulein!" Caster said, despite the gaping hole in his chest and the displacement of his own heart. "Now you know my identity, it really _is_ time to meet the real me!" He released his grasp on his own heart, only for Saber and Lancer to observe it remain floating in the air. Suddenly, the pooled black ooze below the heart erupted upwards, spiralling around the now hovering heart.

"He… He can't be!" exclaimed Lancer, eyes wide.

"The demon he made a pact with… It was…" began Saber as he stared in equal shock at the spectacle before him.

"RISE, MEPHISTOPHELES!" screamed Caster, standing back from his own heart.

The black liquid started to pour faster from the heart itself, joining with the swirling column that formed from the ground, and it coalesced into a blob like shape that enveloped the heart. The writhing mass of ooze started to contort as stumps that would form into limbs emerged, and a head was becoming distinct at the height of the mass.

Lancer, suddenly winding up her arm, flung her spear straight the forming head of the figure before them. To both her and Saber's horror, the creature forming moved its upper body to the side and grasped at the spear with a half-formed hand. It spun with the kinetic energy of the spear and threw it straight back at Lancer, who froze up in surprise.

"Raargh!" Saber jumped into the path of the spear and, releasing one hand from his blade, was able to catch the projectile before it collided with its master. He tossed it to Lancer, quickly turning back to Caster and the abomination he had brought forth into the world.

"It's already aware…" murmured Lancer, regaining a prepared stance. The black shape was now a featureless human that, almost all at once, gained every single feature. Muscles formed below its skin, as if the skin itself tightened to cover them. A thin nose below slitted eyes formed and a wide gaping mouth filled with long thin razor teeth opened on its face. Around its waist, a tattered and worn robe hung. Finally, on its still bald head, two large and vicious looking horns emerged. The pair of horns curled backwards over its head, extending an entire foot behind its head and ending in a pointed tip.

"Mephistopheles…" Saber stared at the beast before him. The pitch black, otherworldly creature before the pair of Servants was a true horror to behold. Its red eyes gazed on the pair like it had spied fresh victims. Caster stepped forward to the demon's side.

"Ah, finally I am me again!" he exclaimed, the gaping hole in his chest starting to close over with charred black flesh. On the flesh was a word inscribed in Hebrew: Mephitz. Destroyer. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" In the blink of an eye, Caster and Mephistopheles took off in opposite directions.

"I'll take the demon!" yelled Saber, moving to intercept the black beast. "You can handle Caster, aye?" In agreement, Lancer moved to attack Caster.

"Of course. Just who do you think you're dealing with here?" asked Lancer, her serious tone disguising the joke well. She lunged at Caster with her spear, almost piercing his head from the full reach of the spears shaft. Saber caught eye of the move before clashing with Mephistopheles.

"Ye know, I almost forgot!" Saber yelled with energy and laughter as he swung at the beast before him. Much to the Servant's surprise, Mephistopheles grasped at the blade as it swung towards him and halted it. He gripped it with merely his fingers, which Saber saw ended it deadly looking, claw-like nails. With his free hand, Mephistopheles clawed at Saber, who wrenched his sword from the demon's grip and jumped back out of the way of the swipe. "Cunning bastard!"

Lancer's first thrust, missing Caster who expertly dodged mid-run, left her open to counterattack. Caster wreathed a hand in flames and, while running past Lancer, threw it at her head. She lowered herself as she pulled her spear back in. The flame coursed over her and past Saber and Mephistopheles.

"Such exquisite moves, fraulein!" Caster said, turning back to attempt a further hit and run attack. Lancer predicted the tactic, twirling around with her now re-balanced spear. Caster almost ran right into the bladed head of the spear, stopping abruptly and throwing another ball of flame. The halted movement crippled the fire's accuracy and power, causing it to fire wide of Lancer.

"Indeed," agreed the blue eyed Servant with her attacker, thrusting the point that now faced Caster forward. He threw himself out of the way, landing hard on the ground.

_He isn't made for close combat. Why did he make an effort to close the gap between us?_

Meanwhile, Saber attempted another strike against Mephistopheles, his attacks thwarted by the beast's surprising speed. He would bat away Saber's blade, before unleashing a powerful swipe of his claws.

"Cannae speak?" asked the Servant, ducking a horizontal swipe. Saber rolled back, choosing to hold back until ready to unleash a penultimate blow to the beast before him.

"…" Mephistopheles stayed silent, slowly pacing towards Saber with his red eyes fixed on his quarry.

"Not much o' a talker, eh?" Saber unleashed swing of his sword, aiming for the legs. The demon leapt deftly above the sword as it passed. The momentum from the swing carried Saber around full circle, with the Servant angling his follow through swing at Mephistopheles' head.

_CLANG._

The metal of Saber's blade clashed with the claws of the Beast, the Servant staring aghast at his foe.

"Quiet, you crass weakling," hissed Mephistopheles through thin, disgusting lips. With that, the Demon clasped onto the blade he had blocked tightly, and proceeded to pull it to one side. With a jerk, Saber was lifted off his feet as Mephistopheles violently tossed the Servant. Saber gained speed and punched a hole into an already destroyed wall of what was once someone's home. "All talk."

"I wouldnae say that if I were you!" Saber's voice boomed from inside the house, before the remnants of the wall he had puncture blasted outwards. Saber stood resplendent in his armour among collapsed rubble, holding his sword in a single hand as if were as light as a feather.

"Tch." Mephistopheles, wasting no time, lunged at Saber with claws at the ready. Saber reciprocated, leaping forward at the Demon before him. The pair clashed, claw on sword. With Saber's free and gauntlet covered hand, he delivered a swift punch to Mephistopheles face, before withdraw a step to avoid the second claw of the Beast come up from below. A visible tear could be seen in Mephistopheles' cheek, where the sharp knuckles of the gauntlet had pierced his black skin. The tear sealed itself swiftly, the Demon cracking his neck in a display of disinterest of his own wounds.

"There's a lot more where that came from, lad," taunted Saber, launching himself at Mephistopheles once more. The pair clashed, trading blows fervently with each other. The now singlehanded blows of Saber were proving to be too much for Mephistopheles to handle, having to block and dodge full strength swings that came at more than double the speed of before.

"Grgh." The demon grunted as Saber's blade made a thin slice across the top of the Demon's arm. Mephistopheles batted the blade downwards, stepping on it with a bare foot to lock it in place on the ground. Quick as a flash, the Beast swept an arm up to Saber's face. Eyes widening, Saber moved his head to the side as Mephistopheles arm exploded forward in a mass of tar and tentacles.

"Fuck!" Saber ripped his sword from its locked position and managed to roll away as the Demon withdrew his disturbing malformed arm to a once again human form with a sickening bone breaking crackling. Blood poured from the side of Saber's head, where his ear had once been. He lifted his free hand to the ragged bloody remnants of his ear, winching as he touched it. "Note tae self: Dodge that one."

Mephistopheles let fly a roundhouse style kick from out of range, only for his leg to contort and extend in a similar manner as his arm, Saber barely dodging the sweeping blow. The Demon, catching wind that his power was working, proceed to let fly a flurry of vicious swipes and blows to ensnare the Servant before him.

Barely avoiding blows, Saber could do little but back pedal and look for an opening that seemed impossible to find.

_He really is a demon!_

* * *

><p>Lancer struggled to land a hit on the wild Caster. The crazed servant threw himself at Lancer, only to immediately fly out of range of even her spear. Neither Servant had sustained a blow yet, both relying on a single blow to the deed once the time came.<p>

"What's the matter?" taunted Caster, launching another black flame. Lancer deflected the flame with her buckler, thrusting her spear where Caster stood to force him back. "I thought that Lancer was the most agile of all classes? The swiftest of the swift?"

Choosing not to dignify her opponent with a rage filled response he so craved, Lancer launched herself forward at Caster as he jumped back from her initial thrust.

_If I keep the pressure on him, he'll break for sure._

Lancer let fly with swipes and thrusts, forcing Caster to avoid the blows. His footwork was rough and untrained. Lancer, however, moved with poise and grace.

_ Just… a little more!_

Caster suddenly stumbled and started to fall backwards, his face instantly falling from a mad smile to something akin to terror. Lancer smiled.

_Gotcha._

With a single powerful thrust, Lancer lunged at Caster. The spear point pierced Caster's head between the eyes, slicing through the bone of his brow and passing through the back of his head. The Servant went limp, his weight suddenly pulling down on the spear. Lancer swiftly pulled it back towards her, withdrawing the bloody weapon from his broken skull.

_Thud._ Caster's head hit the ground, grey matter spilling out as it bounced a single time on the hard ground of the road.

Lancer quickly turned to Saber, who was still in combat with Mephistopheles, to watch as the Demon faded away. Instead, she saw the Beast extend its arm like a disgusting tentacle, almost blasting Saber's head off his shoulders.

"It's not going to be _that_ simple, fraulein." A voice came from where the apparently dead body of Caster lay. Lancer turned to see the source, only to find Caster raising himself from the ground with a gaping hole through his head.

"By… Odin…" Lancer took several steps back from Caster, the holes in his head slowly starting to close over as his skin regrew. The grey matter that had been spilled onto the pavement turned to ash, melding with the black tar of the blood that had also seeped from his once fatal wound.

"That… hurt!" Caster made a contented smile at his opponent's horror, the black tar from his wound smeared across his face. "I'll be sure to pay you back tenfold, fraulein!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

It's been a while! Too long, in fact! XD

As usual, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am still writing as much as I possibly can. Please bear with any delays I might have.

Tune in next time for some more action and drama! :D


	17. Sang Des Innocents : Part 2

Chapter 17  
>Sang Des Innocents – Culpabilité<p>

"I suppose this comes as a shock, fraulein," Caster said, righting himself. He dusted off his clothes and swept his hair out of his face before continuing. "Unfortunately, it's not going to be that simple to remove me from this mortal coil."

"W-What the hell are you?" Lancer asked, digging into her stance, preparing for anything. "How do you still stand before me?" Caster chuckled softly to himself, contented at the effect his condition always had.

"It's actually rather droll," the bloodied servant said, walking towards Lancer. "Unless you hit right here, I think you'll find me impossible to stop." He gestured to his scarred chest where he ripped out his own heart. The blood red Hebrew scrawled in his chest held a faint glow.

"Aim for the heart? Such a cliché weakness, Caster," Lancer taunted, taking a step back as Caster continued his approach.

"Your words are confident, but your actions most certainly do not reflect that tenacity, fraulein. There is no harm in being afraid of a monster from your worst nightmares." His pace quickened, forcing Lancer into the same.

_Aim…_ Lancer stopped in her tracks, raising her buckler to her face and rearing back. Caster sped up further, incensed by her fear.

_For the heart!_ Caster lunged at the cowering Lancer, a hand enshrouded in flame battering her shield. However, to the surprise of Caster, it held fast upon his hand's impact. For a second, time seemed to freeze. Caster looked over the shield to Lancer's face, her gleaming blue eyes staring right back at him.

"You…!"

Lancer forced her shield forward, unbalancing the shocked Caster, before thrusting the spear she had kept readied and covered by her buckler. The spear flew at the blackened chest of Caster with high speed.

_ Game over…_

"Not yet!" Caster whipped a hand up in the path of the spear. It overshot its mark, his arm becoming impaled on the bladed tip of Lancer's weapon. Despite the pain, Caster immediately realised the leverage he now had and pulled down his arm, diverting the course of the spear. However, Lancer immediately realised her own mistake, pulling the spear down with Caster's arm only to continue where Caster halted. The spear ripped through his arm, tearing it off his body from the middle of the forearm.

"ARGH!" With a scream and staggered backward step, Caster used his other hand to throw black flames at his attacker. Lancer batted away a ball of flame and ducked another, rising up to deliver a kick to Caster chest. The Servant's ribs cracked under the force of armour clad foot, the sound splitting above the mayhem within the street. Flying backwards, Caster tumbled across the ground and flipped end-over-end multiple times.

"Now you're mine!" Lancer charged after her prey, intent on ending this fight as quickly as possible. Caster finally lost momentum enough to skid on his back across the ground, coming to rough halt. The crushed ribs of the Servant made it hard to breathe, but his unnatural regeneration allowed him to function beyond his limits. The forearm that was torn from his body dissolved into black tar, flying back to its owner and reforming swiftly where it belonged.

"No… now you're _mine_!" Caster rasped, raising both hands above his collapsed figure. He made swift and forceful motions with his hands, Lancer hesitating for a split second. Surrounding the pair of fighters, and scattered the length of the street, the everlasting black flames of Caster came to life. Numbering in the hundreds, the dark fires rose into the air above the very buildings lining the street, moving at incredible speed to the air above Caster.

"No!" cried Lancer, quickening her pace. She took a great leap, extending her spear out in front of her to land on the floored Servant. By this time, the flames had almost all gathered in a writhing mass of blackness above the both Servants that looked like the dark twin of the Sun itself. Caster swept his hands down to the ground beside him, his face plastered with a smile.

"Too slow!" cackled Caster as Lancer hung in the air between him and the dark Sun. As Caster's hands touched the ground, the very structure of the mass of flames seemed to fail as flames burst out from the bottom of the spherical harbinger of doom. The flames poured like liquid towards Lancer, as she twisted herself around, cat-like, in midair to face the torrent that was almost upon her.

_Damn…_ Lancer closed her eyes as the black flames enveloped her in midair and poured to the ground. Caster rose from the ground as the flames flowed downwards. They spread out and around their master, flowing outwards like a wave with Caster as the centre. As the source of the flames depleted and the last embers fell, the lithe form of Lancer burst from the column of fire and arced slowly in the air before landing hard into the ground with a metallic crunch. As the flames flowed to the ground, settling like a living black carpet against the street, Caster turned to the Servant lying injured on the ground.

"Now," he started, taking a step towards her collapsed form. "I hope you finally realise it's not a simple matter to take me down, fraulein." Lancer lay in a singed heap on the hard asphalt of the road. Her ornate armour had lost its sheen, her buckler, having served its purpose protecting her face, partially melted and her arms and legs painfully burned. Her spear, however, looked as pristine as it ever was and was stuck in the ground next to her.

With a sharp gasp of pain, Lancer sprang into awreness to find Caster casually walking towards her. She struggled to move, her limbs aching from the overwhelming pain of her burns. Raising her head slowly, she realised her normally long braided hair had been ruined by the flames, the braid released and letting her hair flow freely in the air.

_S-Second degree at most… Not done yet…_

"Oh, so you're alive? At least I'm not talking to myself here!" laughed Caster, keeping his approach slow out of a twisted curiosity into how far Lancer would still go. Achingly rising to her feet, Lancer grasped at her buckler that was strapped to her arm.

_This can't go on much longer!_ Using all the strength she could muster, she ripped the small shield off her forearm and threw it to the ground. She quickly took up her spear and readied herself, her stance wavering but sustained. Caster stopped a mere five metres from Lancer, keeping his hands open at his sides.

"Do you really think you can continue this fight?" asked Caster, flexing his fingers on both hands while the black sea of flames behind him wavered with each individual movement of his digits.

"Yes…" rasped Lancer, finding her throat as painfully sore as her arms and legs. The inhalation of the superheated air would make the fight that much hard to keep up with if she could not breath. Caster responded with a derisive snort.

"Alright then, fraulein. Do you really think it's _wise_ to continue this fight?" He flexed his fingers more, rocking his hands back and forth in his wrists. The flames behind him grew more and more agitated at every single motion he made.

"..levant…"

"I'm sorry? What were you're finally words?" Caster's sick smile widened.

"Irrelevant. I fight for my Master. I fight for Josephine Roux. My 'wisdom' is unneeded. If I don't stand…" Lancer's words caught in her throat, inciting a harsh cough. "If… I don't stand between you and my Master, I am nothing. I am not fit to be in my own Master's presence!" Lancer's wavering stance stiffened, then relaxed, her now ragged long hair billowing around her face. Caster simply replied with another snort of derision, before sweeping his hands forward and unleashing the sea of flames as if a dam had burst.

_This is it… All or nothing!_ With a mighty scream that broke through her rasping and painful voice, Lancer charged at Caster, ready to protect her Master to the end.

* * *

><p>"Lass…" Murmured Saber, his blade locked with one of Mephistopheles' claws and his free hand holding back the other deadly claw that aimed to tear at his face. The Scottish Servant had seen black ball of flames empty on his ally, engulfing her in a river of darkness, and had almost received a mortal blow for his lack of attention on his own situation.<p>

"She will be your downfall at this rate, human," growled Mephistopheles, forcing down hard on Saber, hoping to break his stance. Saber held fast against the demon, refocusing his attention back to his own opponent.

"Hah, not likely. But your master may be yours, demon!" Saber swung out with his blade, Mephistopheles leaping into a back-flip away from his opponent. As the demon righted himself, Saber charged to meet his foe once again. It was then that Mephistopheles let fly with a straight using his contorted and extended arm. Saber sidestepped the blow, losing no speed, as the misshapen limb flew past his head.

"Got anythin' new, or is that all ye can dae?" taunted Saber ready to unleash his sword.

"Arrogance is also nothing to tout, human!" Mephistopheles shot back, swinging his extended arm at Saber like a whip. Caught by complete surprise, Saber could do little but pull away in the direction he had already sidestepped. The arm slammed into his side with enough force to squeeze the air out of his lungs, and smashed the Servant down hard to the ground. The demon brought up his free hand, ready to plough it into Saber's face.

The Servant rolled as the second arm of Mephistopheles shot forward, smashing into the street where he once lay, tearing up the hard ground as if it were sand. Saber raised himself in time to have to duck the whipping arm of the demon once again.

"Bloody hell!" cursed the Servant, attempting to close the gap with his foe, the demon's arms stretched to create an opening. Flinging himself at Mephistopheles, Saber attempted a vertical swipe.

"Hmph," grunted the demon, his grotesquely contorted limbs shrivelling back to normal size within an instant, ready to meet the blade of Saber that was only inches away from his face. With a metallic screech, Mephistopheles caught the Servant's sword with both hands, being forced backwards by the force of the blow. Following through with the motion, the demon bent backwards at the hips, then the knees, still clinging to Saber's blade.

"Whit the-?" Saber was lifted off his feet and, at the end of his arc, Mephistopheles released the blade within his hands. The Servant flew over the demon, flying low to the ground before crashing hard into the street.

Saber quickly righted himself, leaping from the ground quickly despite the hard blows. His armour had withstood most of the damage, but the fall had still winded him. Mephistopheles, following through, swiftly turned and lunged at Saber, lashing out with an extended arm as he charged. Unable to coordinate himself after the fall, the Servant blocked the limb instead of dodging. The limb slammed into the sword, the energy behind its blow coiling the arm into a disturbing knot of black flesh.

Mephistopheles once again grasped Saber's blade in hand, ready to throw the Servant once again. However, Saber immediately swept his sword out of the demon's grasp, carving a large slice into Mephistopheles' palm. As the demon made a small wince of pain, Saber crouched as low as his armour allowed and sped at the demon like a bullet. A second extended arm flew past Saber's head, the Servant dodging to one side and increasing speed.

It was then that a familiar voice burst above the mayhem. The voice of Torsten Amsel cried out in pain, Saber immediately recognising his Master's plight. A moment's hesitation in his approach towards the demon allowed Mephistopheles to withdraw his limbs once again, and block the laboured attack of the Scottish Servant.

_D-damn…_ Mephistopheles gripped Saber's blade yet another time. Saber, needing leverage against the imposing figure before him, wrapped an armoured leg around the bare black leg of Mephistopheles. The pair stood locked with each other, their faces centimetres apart. The demon smiled a sick smile of razor sharp, needle-like teeth.

"It's all for naught. You shall all die," said Mephistopheles, wrenching slowly on Saber's blade.

"Everybody dies, demon. But ye won't be the one tae dae me in. Or my allies," retorted the Scottish Servant, holding firm.

"If I am not the one to finish you, then my comrade will be."

"That Caster couldnae even hurt me if he tried, demon!" Saber pushed against the might of Mephistopheles, matching his strength.

"Him? He's is not my comrade. He is but a fool who wagered his soul for a pittance and who I am bound to. No, there is a comrade from the very depths of Hell within this War for the Holy Grail. It will destroy all of you and everything it can touch."

Before Saber could even begin to state his surprise at Mephistopheles' words, another scream could be heard in the battlefield. It was Torsten once again.

_Lad… Stay strong!_

* * *

><p>"Did she suffer?" asked Cecile, slowly advancing on Torsten who limped backwards, a projected knife now once again clutched in his hand. The deep wound on the outer side of his left leg hampered his movement greatly. The hand that clutched his knife shook with the pain of the gash up his shoulder.<p>

"Wh-what?" he stammered, shuffling back towards Roux. Having been outwitted every time she made an approach, she knew not how to help her partner.

"Did Adelheid suffer when you snuffed out the life that you had no right claiming?" Cecile elaborated, making careful and slow progress on Torsten. Despite her distraught state, she was no novice combatant, and Torsten knew it.

"What kind of question is that?" blurted Torsten, slamming down the foot on his uninjured right leg, halting his movement. The sudden outburst stopped Cecile in her tracks, looking puzzled. "What kind of person asks a question like that?"

_Torsten…_ Roux was behind and to the left of her partner, all attempts at entering the fray only leading to quick and powerful outbursts from Cecile. Relatively unscathed, there was little Roux could do but watch. As Jo thought to act on Cecile's sudden and jerking halt at Torsten's exclamation, she was interrupted by Torsten himself.

"If you had ever killed a person, you'd know that wasn't a question you ask. Ever," he murmured, shaking uncontrollably from what could have either been anger or intense pain. "What have you done to yourself to become so… twisted?" Cecile recoiled at the question, as if physically repulsed.

"All I have done…" croaked Cecile, her knuckles whitening on the shaft of her scythe. "Is try to pay for the sins I have committed. If twisted is what I am, twisted is what I should be. I do not need judgement from the one who stole away my only hope at freeing myself!" Her voice rising to a scream as she spoke, Torsten braced for another attack.

_I guess… She's beyond anything I can do to help…_

However, Cecile simply stood her ground. Torsten's eyes looked over his opponent, his attention caught by her shaking legs. It was then he noticed something else. Small drops of water were falling to the ground, landing at Cecile's feet, creating small sad patches of darkness. Turning his gaze to her face, Torsten discovered that his opponent in this duel to the death was crying. Cecile's unusual calmness and detachment replaced by a face contorted in inner pain that Torsten couldn't hope to understand.

"I…" Torsten began. Cecile simply stared at him, almost expectantly; waiting for something that the young Magus could not provide. After a moment of silence between the pair, the cacophony of the battle of Servants overwhelming their confrontation, Cecile opened her mouth to speak.

"_I_ did it," she said abruptly, tears still flowing and eyes fixed on Torsten's, unaware that Roux had disappeared from behind her opponent.

"D-did what?" hesitated Torsten, feeling the urge to step away from Cecile. Despite her sadness, there was an unmistakeable, if unstable, feeling of malice seeping from Cecile Prideaux. It unsettled Torsten's very soul.

"_I_ am the one who killed my parents."

"What?" Confused, Torsten almost forgot he was in a duel with Cecile, loosening his stance. "But, what about Adelheid?"

"Hah, that monster only attacked my parents through sadistic desire. _I_ was the one who could have been there with my parents. _I_ was the one who could have protected them. But I wasn't with my parents. I didn't protect them. That sick creature who ended their lives simply acted on opportunity. However, I was the one to sentence them to their fates." Cecile spoke quickly, wrenching the words out. Torsten stood stunned.

"Then… Then why?" the young Magus asked, perplexed.

"Why what?"

"Why did you feel the need to kill Adelheid?" Torsten elaborated, blurting out the words quickly and in a panic. "What purpose would it serve if you have already sentenced _yourself_ to a life of torture for your own crimes?" Cecile, tears still flowing down her face, made yet another sad smile. She even went so far as to let out a small, restrained chuckle.

"Because," she began, her shaking lessening. "If I could become the murderer that I feared I may become, I would be justly punished for abandoning the only people who I ever cared about." Cecile regained her composure, as if releasing her feelings dispelled all the tension from her body. It only made Torsten feel ever more uneasy.

"Justly punished? You haven't done anything wrong! How can you even perceive what you've done as a crime?"

"You'll never understand. Cold as ice, runs the blood of a Magus. Is abandoning a loved one to their death not a transgression to you?" Cecile's voice turned sharp, her emotions jumping from one extreme to the other.

"What? Of course it's not right! But… But… You couldn't have known…" Torsten began to ramble, his wounds in great pain and his mind conflicted. "I… don't understand…"

"Precisely. You'll never know of my pain. All you need know is that to release my pain," Cecile took a step forward, Torsten flinching. "All that is left to remove is the murderer of by salvation from this world." Taking another great step, Cecile coiled down to leap at Torsten before a scream penetrated the pair's battle.

"Hyaaaaaa!" From behind Cecile, Josephine Roux lashed out with a precisely aimed kick. Her foot connected with the small of Cecile's back, causing her to involuntarily wrench backwards into the blow.

"Jo!" yelled Torsten, Cecile stumbling towards him as Roux planned to follow through and floor her. Before Torsten could decry Roux for interrupting, she spoke first.

"You've done enough, Torsten!" she yelled, stepping forward to meet with Cecile's back and hooking her forward leg around Cecile's backmost leg. Placing an open palm on the back of Cecile's head, Jo swept her arm forward and down. As the Cecile face plummeted towards the pavement, the air around the pair of fighting magi picked up. Against the force of Roux's arm, Cecile slowed and halted mere millimetres above the ground, her nose almost touching the rough black asphalt.

"Wha-?" uttered Roux in surprise, her dress and hair whipped up by sudden and violent winds that ensnared her and her opponent.

"Get out of there!" screamed Torsten, lunging at the pair.

"Too late!" Cecile blasted upright from an almighty gale force wind. As Torsten watched on in horror, the massive gale began to lift his opponent from the ground into a graceful hover. Roux was catapulted upwards, caught in the winds that now suspended Cecile in midair. The wind continued to roar around the pair, disrupting the very sound around them.

"ROUX!" Torsten's scream was muffled by the cacophony formed of the rending winds, and all he could do was watch as Cecile swept around to face Roux, holding her scythe out wide as she spun. The deadly blade avoided direct contact with Roux as it passed, almost rending open her chest. As Cecile's momentum ran out, ending her rotation, the pair locked stares.

_Oh no…_ Roux looked into the eyes of the windswept wraith before her. Cold, dark orbs of hate were all that gazed back. Roux raised her arms in front of her head and chest seconds before being violently ripped at by the winds that trailed behind the wicked scythe of Cecile. With a howl of pain, Roux was flung to the ground, landing hard. Rolling limply for a few metres, she came to a stop near the edge of the road, metres away from both Torsten and Cecile.

"No!" Torsten attempted to run to Roux's side, only for Cecile to land between him and his friend.

"I think you have more pressing matters…" Cecile spoke up only to trail off. Abruptly, she rocketed towards Torsten, scythe by her side, "to attend to!"

Raising his knife, Torsten clashed with Cecile, his knife connecting with the inside blade of her scythe. Deciding against a competition of strength, Cecile quickly withdrew and lunged again and again at Torsten. Wincing with every blocked blow, his wounds aching and his mind distracted by the limp form of Rou behind his opponent, Torsten could do little but backpedal.

_This can't be it… _

"Have you already given up, Torsten Amsel?" Cecile taunted, delivering a kick straight to Torsten's stomach. Winded, the young Master swiftly walked backwards, away from Cecile and even further from Roux.

"No…" Torsten forced himself to say between sharp intakes of breath. "I can't just give up when the one I'm fighting doesn't really want to fight me!" Cecile scoffed with an over exaggerated expression of disdain on her face.

"Still you persist with that nonsense? That puerile tripe? You are the thief of my salvation. What else am I to do but fight you?" Cecile approached Torsten. He found it easy to see the mixed feelings all over her face, and the iciness that had now gripped at her eyes. For reason's Torsten couldn't fully explain, he felt enraged. A sudden an overwhelming rage simply took hold of him, destroying any thoughts of running or escaping.

"A copout," Torsten snapped, almost beginning to yell. He braced himself fully for another onslaught, his pain seeming to dissipate from his mind as his anger grew. "You don't need to fight anyone, you fool!" Cecile's eyes widened, before she launched herself at Torsten once again so trade blows.

"You still haven't learned, have you?" Cecile fired back, sweeping horizontally with her scythe. Torsten ducked, taking a low step forward as he did so. Cecile backpedalled.

"Hah, I've learned something at least," Torsten took a swipe at Cecile with his knife, nicking her cheek. "You're selfish, above all things." With a confused look, Cecile stepped back again, sweeping at Torsten to force him out of range.

"What?" asked Cecile, confused.

"You're selfish to the core!" Torsten yelled, finally aware of the revelation that had angered him in the first place. "You say you are punishing yourself, but it's only self-serving weakness that keeps you going!" Torsten slowly approached his opponent, tired of doing nothing but defend against Cecile's blows.

"You know no-" Cecile began, her voice beginning to waver, the water building in her eyes melting their icy coldness.

"Shut the hell up! You… You say you killed your parents? But Adelheid is the murderer! You say that you are putting yourself through this hell for your own punishment? Bullshit. Self-centered bullshit!" bellowed Torsten, lunging at Cecile. She put up little fight, clumsily trying to dodge the blow and almost tripping on her own feet. "Do you really think, your parents wanted you to do this to yourself? Do you really think that becoming another Adelheid is a _selfless_ act?"

"Sh-shut up!" screamed Cecile, taking a wild and reckless sweep of her scythe. Torsten easily sidestepped the erratic blow and took another small swipe at Cecile.

"All you are doing is cowering in your own self-pity!" Torsten let Cecile avoid the blow, loosening his stance after his attack. "Look what it has done to you… Look at the monster you are turning into. Do you think your parents would be proud?"

"No… Stop…" whimpered Cecile, her legs and arms shaking.

"Do you think your parents could look on you as a daughter after this?" Torsten's now melancholic voice wavered itself.

"Stop!" Cecile snapped, her sudden anger not enough to stop the tears streaming down her pale face.

"Do you think… your parents could love the monster you want to become?" Staring straight at Cecile, Torsten posed his last question with his last hopes riding swiftly behind it.

"Shut up!" screamed Cecile, blasting forward with the power of winds behind her, slamming into Torsten. The young Master collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath as Cecile stood before him.

"You've never wanted to fight," Torsten spluttered, slowly shuffling backwards from Cecile. She followed at an even pace. "It's the easy way out and you know it. A way you can take out your anger on everyone else."

"Quiet," Cecile offered as a retort, almost as silent as a whisper.

"I don't know you, Cecile," Torsten said, finding it hard to move back any further, his subsided anger bringing back the pain of his wounds. "But I know that your parents wouldn't want you to destroy yourself, never mind using them for an excuse to do it. I know that they loved you. Otherwise, I don't think you would be doing this."

Cecile remained silent, standing before her down opponent with white knuckles grasping her scythe before her. She slowly raised it above her head, ready to end Torsten's life with a single blow.

"Run," Torsten said abruptly.

"W-What?" croaked Cecile, her arms shaking with the scythe still held high.

"You can still leave and live a normal life. I have a duty to my friend, and a promise to fulfil. But you have no business here." Torsten spoke evenly and with a smile. "Leave, and prove your parents were great people."

"I… But… Caster…" Cecile's arms remained high above her, the scythe ready to deliver death to all before its might.

"He would want the best for his Master," Torsten reassured.

"However, I'm going to have to be selfish," Torsten continued, almost laughing. "And ask you don't let your death hang on _my _conscience. Adelheid is enough for me. I don't need the blood of the innocent on my hands."

It was then that Cecile's grip began to loosen, her scythe slipping in her grasp, and her knees began to buckle. Torsten heaved a sigh of relief.

_It's… Over…_

* * *

><p>Roux's head was blindingly painful when she came to from her crash to the road. More than just her head, her entire body ached. Her arms felt strangely warm. Looking down, she saw her sleeves were tattered, stained crimson from the blood of her wounds. While aching, the gashes in her arm were not as deep as she first feared. She tried to raise herself, dazed, looking around for signs of Torsten and Cecile.<p>

Turning her attention away from herself, she found her vision blurred and shaky, but made out the figures of two people across the road. One crawled on the ground, away from Roux and the second figure, which slowly trudged after the first. Both stopped, the standing figure raising a large weapon.

_No… No!_ As Roux realised what was happening before her, her chest tightened. She could see Torsten's mouth move, talking to Cecile who stood ready to kill him. Time seemed to freeze as a fear unlike any other gripped Josephine Roux.

Achingly, she tore her gaze away from Torsten and Cecile to look for Lancer. With the fight between Servants having travelled further down the road and the speed at which they fought superhuman, it was almost impossible to make out the lithe figure of Lancer. However, Roux could feel the link between her and her servant was as strong as ever. Placing a hand to her left shoulder, Roux looked back to her childhood friend. Her choice was clear, there no room for doubt.

"_Lancer, kill Cecile this instant!"_

Upon finishing her unwavering Command, Roux felt her Magic Circuits flood with an incredible amount of prana, all concentrating on her left shoulder. The intense feeling was almost overwhelming in its suddenness, but as quickly as the feeling began, it passed into nothingness.

"Save him… Please!" Josephine Roux whispered to herself, choking back tears.

* * *

><p>"For one so ragged and on their last," Caster said, avoiding the pointed spear of Lancer piercing his throat. "You still have a fire most fierce in your eyes, fraulein." Lancer withdrew her spear, jumping back to duck a stream of black flames that sought to incinerate her.<p>

"And your eyes are hollow pits," Lancer retorted, making a large horizontal sweep with her delicate spear. Clumsily rolling backwards, Caster avoided the extended blow. "Revealing your lack of a soul." Lancer received a wry smile.

"A most fierce fire counts for naught when you are wounded and on death's door," Caster fired back, pulling back the flames that were far from him. Lancer, pre-empting the manoeuvre, leapt up and over the wall that passed by where she had only stood seconds ago. She landed, ready to endure another game of cat and mouse with Caster's flames, to feel a sudden surge of power from her link with Roux. Her Master's voice spoke loud and clear, as is the pair were standing side-by-side:

"_Lancer, kill Cecile this instant!"_

Lancer's eyes widened at the command, but her duty came before reason. The blonde Servant changed stance, lowering herself to the ground and pulling back her spear arm as far as possible. The power of the ultimate Command fuelled Lancer now, removing all doubt and fear from before mind.

_If Roux wills it, hesitation is unnecessary._

"What are you doing now, fraulein?" Caster asked, amused.

"Finishing this." Lancer burst from her stance, letting the spear fly forward as both her legs and arm extended to full length. "_Gungnir_."

In a brilliant and blinding flash of light, as the tip of Gungnir approached the heart of Caster, Lancer dissolved from the tip of the spear back, peeling out of existence before her opponent. In an instant, it was as if Lancer had delved through the very fabric of space itself, going beyond Caster.

It took a moment for Caster to realise he had not just been skewered; to realise where Lancer had truly gone. The revelation overtook the Servant with dread; the final determination in Lancer's eyes before vanishing now lacking in mystery.

Lancer's Gungnir had hit its intended mark, tearing through the chest of Cecile Prideaux.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Before anything else, I'd like to apologise for the huge gap between this chapter and last. Real life got real busy, real quick! Exams are a bitch. ^^;

I hope I haven't disappointed anyone with dropping the rather neat schedule I had, but it should be much smoother from now on!

In any case, this was a difficult chapter to write. Enjoyable, but difficult. I hope the challenge was worth it.

As per usual, I hope you liked it and tune in next time! I promise an... interesting chapter. (I hope!) XD


	18. Sang Des Innocents : Final

Chapter 18

Sang Des Innocents – Châtiment

The brilliant flash of light only lasted an instant, but it blinded Torsten Amsel as he still lay on the ground before Cecile. He could feel warmth on his left cheek, and as his vision returned, he could see its source. Piercing Cecile's chest was a gleaming metal spear tip, coated with blood. The crimson liquid spread outwards from the wound, dying her clothes a deep red. Torsten touched his cheek, the blood spatter now coating his finger tips. He looked at the blood on his fingers with disgust and fear, before looking straight into the eyes of Cecile.

"I…" croaked the impaled Master, her voice barely a rasping whisper. Torsten tried to speak, but no words would leave his mouth, leaving it merely agape in horror. It was then he noticed the bedraggled and exhausted figure of Lancer behind Cecile, holding the spear that pierced her chest. The pair's eyes met.

"I'm sorry," Lancer said simply, her weapon and body beginning to spiritualise and her face pained. As the spear through Cecile's chest disappeared, all force holding her stand was destroyed along with it. Her scythe slipped from her hands and landed with a harsh metallic clatter. As Lancer fully disappeared from the physical world, Cecile dropped slowly to her knees before Torsten.

As if a switch within Torsten's brain was flicked, he jolted from his position to Cecile's side, catching her almost completely limp body as it threatened to fall backwards to the ground.

"I… I can't…" stammered Torsten, shaking as he clutched Cecile in his arms.

_This isn't happening! This can't be happening!_

* * *

><p>"No…" Caster said, starting in a whisper before rising to an almighty howl. "NO!" He stumbled forward, clumsily trying to approach his stricken Master as she fell to the ground in the wake of Lancer's attack.<p>

Saber and Mephistopheles, not far away from Caster, froze where they stood. Both stared at the figure of Cecile fall into Torsten's arms. The demon made a small chuckle, Saber turning his attention swiftly back to his foe.

"It seems," Mephistopheles began, taking a clawed hand and placing it above his heart. "That my master's Master has fallen. This battle is over, Saber." With swift brutality, the demon plunged his hand into his own chest, tearing out the heart that had created him.

"What the hell are ye doing?" yelled Saber, astounded. Mephistopheles held the still beating heart before him, and then promptly crushed it within a single hand. Thick black tar oozed from between the demon's fingers.

"My master has failed in his duties to protect his own Master, and so our pact is broken," Mephistopheles said, his voice lacking in concern or care. "I do not linger with failures and losers."

"ARRRGH!"

Both Saber and Mephistopheles turned to see Caster, falling on all fours in immense pain. A yellow glow burst from his chest, the Hebrew carved into his own flesh burning. With a final scream of agony, he shot up onto his knees as the skin above his heart rotted away, leaving a gaping and empty hole. All the black flames that surrounded Caster dissolved immediately, his power over them gone.

"Christ…" Saber said under his breath, finding it hard to look at the pitiful figure of Caster as he writhed in pain. He turned back to Mephistopheles, only to see the large figure of the demon flaking away into nothingness.

"I leave you with a warning, Saber," Mephistopheles said as the lower half of his body disintegrated. "There is another in this War like me; a spawn of Hell itself. Its presence is everywhere in this War. The very mana from the grail itself is tainted with it."

"A spawn of Hell?" repeated Saber, the source of this warning giving him a nagging sense of doubt already.

"A fiend much more powerful than I." Mephistopheles' head started to dissolve, finally disappearing. However, his voice continued to sound after his body had completely vanished. "I may not have been your end, Saber, but this fiend will be." Saber listened to the warning in silence.

"MEPHISTOPHELES!" screamed Caster, his voice twisted by the pain of his burning chest. "You traitorous cad! I thought we had a pact?" After a few seconds, the burning stopped and Caster fell on all fours again, breathing hard. He gave a sudden cough, and a gout of now red blood poured from his mouth.

_C-Cecile…_ Caster's vision was blurring as his heartless body struggled to function. Without the pact with Mephistopheles, his body was dying a slow death. He crawled forward, trying to reach his Master, when he heard the crunch of metal on asphalt beside his head. Looking up, the figure of Saber towered over him.

"C-Come to end me, Saber?" spluttered Caster, flecks of blood landing on Saber's iron boots. Saber bent down and lifted Caster up, propping the dying Servant on his shoulder. "W-What are you doing?"

"You want tae see her, aye?" asked Saber. "Then shut it and hauld on." Saber helped Caster walk forward, slowly trudging over the ruins of the battle field.

"Why? Why are you helping me?" croaked Caster, struggling to feel his legs now, never mind walk with them.

"She loves you. The way she looked at you before the battle could hae easily been mistaken as terror. But that's wrong; it was concern. She was worried about you above all other things," Saber said, Caster in a stunned silence. "Donnae you want the last moments of your life tae be with the one who loves you? I would. That's why I'm helping you." Caster could do naught but hang his head as Saber helped carry him to his Master.

* * *

><p>"No…" moaned Torsten, Cecile bleeding away in his arms. She was barely conscious and breathing sharply.<p>

"T-torsten." Jo moved to Torsten's side, her wounds aching. She knelt beside him.

"H-help… Please…" Torsten begged, hoping against hope that Roux had some kind of miracle hidden within her or something to stop Cecile's life ebbing away. All she could do was shake her head solemnly.

"It's…" Cecile tried hard to speak. "It's okay. _I'm_ okay." She coughed, a line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

"No! It's not okay! We… We have to do something…" Torsten trailed off, his hope following suit.

"Cecile!" Caster, being carried by Saber, called to his fallen Master as they approached her. As the pair came within a few metres, Caster fell out of Saber's grasp to lie beside his Master. His face was contorted in pain, but he forced a smile when he looked into Cecile's eyes. He received one back.

"Caster… I'm sorry. I forced you to use that demon…" Cecile started to sob, her hard breathing making it difficult to speak at the same time. "Look what I've done to you!"

"No, my dear Cecile, I should be saying sorry. It was not your fault I went too far… Only my own. The way we are now… It is my doing and mine alone," Caster's voice grew weaker with each word, and he shook with the strain of trying to stay alive to speak to his Master one last time. "Can you find it within your heart… To forgive your foolish Servant?"

"No apologies!" Cecile said with a teary smile, reaching out with a hand to caress her Servant's gaunt face. "I told you that before, didn't I? You don't need my forgiveness, Johann."

"C-Cecile…" Caster, as if the guilt that had just been dispelled from him had been tying him to the world, started to melt away into flickering dark flames. "I am honoured… To have fought beside you, and to have died for you."

"And I, you, Johann. Goodbye," Cecile said, failing to stop herself from simply giving into heartache and crying as her Servant disappeared before her very eyes.

"Auf wiedersehen, my dear, sweet Cecile." As Caster spoke his last words, his face became enveloped in black embers that flickered with great energy for an instant before fading into the night air of Lyon. Cecile's hand was left empty, and she tried to clutch at where his face had been in vain.

"Goodbye…" Cecile repeated in a whisper. There was silence for a few seconds, save for the quiet sobs of Cecile.

"Torsten…" Cecile said, a small smile still on spread across her face.

"Yes? What?" Torsten said abruptly. Cecile replied first with a small but pained giggle.

"You know… You figured me out. Right at the end, you had me ready to run," She explained. "But it appears I was too slow to catch on from the beginning."

"Oh no…" Roux said, her face going pale. "No… I thought you were…" Jo's shock robbed her of the ability to form her thoughts into coherent speech.

"You ordered Lancer to attack Cecile?" Torsten asked sharply, turning to look at Roux. His face was like stone and impossible to read.

"No! I ordered her to save you! I-I saw her holding a scythe above you… I… I thought you were going to die! I thought she was going to _kill you!_" Roux yelled, Torsten almost falling over. "I don't want to lose you!" Torsten's mouth dropped. Saber stood silently watching the affair unfold before his eyes.

"Josephine, you did nothing wrong," Cecile said as loud as possible in her state. She looked Torsten in the eye before speaking again. "Torsten would have done the exact same thing had you two have been in opposite places." Torsten remained silent turned his glance away from both. Roux started to cry.

"You know… Maybe this is for the best," Cecile murmured, her voice now incredibly weak and her breathing becoming irregular. "Maybe… I don't need to worry anymore this way. This way, I have nothing to do but meet my parents again."

"Don't say that! You could have…" Torsten trailed off knowing that whatever he said now would be pointless. Save for one thing. "Maybe you're right."

"Maybe," Cecile said, smiling warmly one last time, tears running down her face. Saber hung his head and Roux turned away, sobbing, as Cecile's body went slowly limp as her life faded from it. Torsten stared at her face, finding she was still smiling. His grip on her tightened.

"…wanted," Torsten mumbled.

"Lad?" Saber said.

"Is this what you wanted? Is this it father?" Torsten screamed to the sky, clutching Cecile tightly in his arms. "You knew I would do anything you ask, and this is what you wanted of me?"

Torsten's words echoed down the dark streets of Lyon, but he received no answer.

* * *

><p>James Cobb sat in the lounge, still awake with a half empty bottle of whiskey, contemplating what to do now that Assassin had once again proven himself unreliable. The frustration caused by Assassin's constant failure was a new feeling to the young businessman, unaccustomed to being on the back foot throughout his financial endeavours. It was only natural, he assumed, that he would be a strong Master of a strong Servant that from sheer natural talent he displayed in everything else he ever did.<p>

_I have to make sure that I make the decisions…_Cobb convinced himself, tired of the theatrics of his doppelganger. The other issue that plagued Cobb, however, weighed far more heavily on his mind. The fact that his Servant was an almost perfect clone of himself was both intriguing and alarming. Mostly alarming because Assassin refused to explain his identity to his own Master on the grounds it's 'best to keep secrets, secret'.

_I have to ask him again. _Cobb looked at the back of his hand, all three Command Spells still present. _If he refuses once more, I'll drag it out of him._

_BANG._

The door to the lounge room burst open, causing Cobb to jump and knock over the bottle of Whiskey on the table next to him.

"Fuck!" Cobb exclaimed, turning to the door to find Assassin in the doorway, his smile a smug one. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I told you so! Didn't I tell you so?" Assassin said, ignoring his Master's question and striding to the seat across from him. "I said I only needed time, and the deed is done!"

"What are you talking about?" Cobb asked through gritted teeth. Assassin, simply choosing to ignore his Master's frustration, waved a long finger at Cobb as if he were scolding a child.

"There is one less Master left in this War," Assassin declared. "And that means it is time for us to strike! Time is all I needed, and time is what I received!" With a click of his fingers, a dark figure formed from the ground next to where he sat. It quickly took the form of a tall man, dressed in rough tactical gear on which hung numerous explosives, weapons and gadgets. His face was rough and pockmarked, a large scar running through an eye that lacked an iris.

"And this is…?" Cobb sat unimpressed, partly distracted by the spilt Whiskey on his carpet and partly disinterested in further grandstanding from his own Servant. While Cobb picked up bottle that had fallen, Assassin looked on with a playful smile on his face.

"This is what will win this War. This is Industrial Espionage personified. Subversion, Infiltration, Destruction: The three words that govern the existence of the professional hitman that stands before you. And, he answers directly to _me_." Assassin sat back to let the words sink in. Cobb was intrigued, but not ready to jump for joy just yet. That was exactly what his Servant wanted.

"This is what you have been waiting for? This thing?" Cobb asked, sceptical. As much as it looked like a formidable familiar, it was but a single familiar. Numbers was Assassin's familiar's only strengths as far as Cobb was concerned. Even then, the familiars were far from an effective fighting force. Assassin 'tutted' at his Master.

"You underestimate the capacity of this particular employee of mine. His experience in extra legal affairs gives him an edge you see. He is as powerful as any Servant in this War. You are the Master of two Servants, essentially," Assassin explained, unperturbed by his Master's negativity. "With enough of the competition out of the way, he can come out of the woodwork to act as the attack dog for our benefit."

_That's it…_ Cobb thought.

"Who are you, Assassin?" Cobb asked bluntly. "Tell me, and I'll believe that you know what you're doing." The question caught Assassin off guard, causing him to look blankly at his Master for a few seconds before responding with a sigh.

"If you must know… Then I shall tell you. I suppose it doesn't matter to keep it secret now, does it?" Assassin cleared his throat before he continued. "Put simply, I am nobody."

"I don't have the patience for games," Cobb snapped, ready to use one of his Command Spells.

"I'd be better described as a… something. An intangible something at that," said Assassin, sounding disinterested in explaining himself. Cobb simply sat dumbfounded.

"What?"

"I am not a who, but a what. It's actually rather simple: I'm a personification, an anthropomorphisation, not a person."

"A personification of what?" asked Cobb, exasperated.

"Some call it 'Business', others call it 'Survival of the Fittest. Personally, my favourite is 'The Root of All Evil'." Assassin sighed and stopped his explanation in the hopes that it would be enough to satiate his Master.

"'Root of All Evil'? _Money_? What kind of hero is that?" Assassin's answer only gave his incredulous Master more questions.

"I'm not a hero," said Assassin with an exaggerated groan. "I'm the personification of the collective, negative perception of money. I am representation of the hate humanity has for its own greed."

"You sit in the Throne of Heroes?"

"I sit in the minds of the people, and the people alone."

"Then how were you even summoned if you do not reside on the Throne?" Assassin shrugged in reply. "You don't know?"

"If I did, there would be no point holding it back now, would there?" Assassin said with a smirk. As much as it annoyed Cobb, his Servant's logic held. There was but one issue left that the Master of Assassin wanted cleared.

"In that case, I want to know this: Why do you look like me? Why are you a double of your own Master?" Cobb asked. Assassin's smirk widened at the question, his pristine white teeth showing.

"Why? Because I decided I would chose a form that suited what I am. I am a reflection of you as the people see you." Assassin ran a hand over his own face, rubbing his right eyebrow where he lacked the vertical scar that Cobb possessed. "With my own personal touches, of course."

As Assassin chuckled to himself, Cobb could offer little but a dry smile.

* * *

><p>Within the dungeon beneath the church, the Homunculus had been hard at work. Slowly but surely, the death of Servants had been fuelling it's progression from a blank slate to its true form. Fully formed, it had set its newly developed mind on the acting upon the thoughts that swirled within its head as it lay naked on the floor, building power.<p>

The door that had once sealed it within the dark depths of the church had been destroyed, allowing for the Homunculus' freedom. However, it preferred the silence and darkness of the dungeon, only venturing upstairs to attain itself clothes. Fully formed physically, it now stood tall and lean, a short mane of pitch black hair atop its pale head. It would appear human by all regards, save for its monstrous face, retaining its thin lips and long flat nose. It had found clothes of the priest it had forced to flee, wearing a long black priest's coat and suit, save for the clerical collar. It figured the outfit was ironic enough without such a symbol of faith strapped around its neck.

"Now," it spoke out loud to itself, a habit it had formed in order to organise its own thoughts as its unstable mind coalesced. "It is time." The pale creature stood back and bit it's thumb, drawing a small amount of blood. It swiftly began to use its bleeding thumb to paint an intricate design on the cold hard floor of the dungeon. Like it was an ingrained skill, the Homunculus painted the intricate design perfectly, working around the pockmarks and divots in the stone floor. Standing back to observe its handiwork, it found no imperfections.

Stepping forward, the Homunculus moved to the centre of the intricate piece it had drawn, and took a deep breath. It began to chant, its words echoing around the stonewalls of the Church's dungeon. The words the Homunculus spoke were not a language seen in the War but for one Servant's pact with a spawn of hell. The Hebrew that passed the Homunculus' mouth flowed fluidly and naturally as a seemingly infinite pool of Mana welled up within it, recursively growing within the vessel of the Grail. Within a chilling roar, the creature uttered the last of its magic chant, the church suddenly beginning to shake.

A hole in the dungeon's ceiling formed as a brilliant beam of light pierced the very earth itself, punching a hole through the ground level of the Church and disintegrating the layer of strata above the dungeon. The beam widened, engulfing the entire blood circle where the Homunculus remained standing, awaiting the rider of the light he had summoned.

"Beautiful. Simply radiant," it said to itself, in true awe at the golden light that filled the once dark tomb. It was then a faint shadow formed with in the beam, growing larger as a figure travelling down the light floated closer and closer downwards to the ground. The figure, bathed in the golden glow of what seemed to be ethereal light, appeared celestial, descending from on high. It slowly lowered through the hole in the dungeon ceiling, landing on one knee before the Homunculus.

The figure was that of a man, resplendent in golden armour. The armour left much of the stomach exposed and lacked greaves, leaving strong muscular legs that bore metallic sandal-like boots to cover the feet and shins. However, the most amazing attribute to the angelic being before the Homunculus was the two great, white wings that extended from the man's back.

"Master," spoke the kneeling man, long brown curls obstructing his lowered face from the Homunculus' view. In response, the Homunculus placed a hand on the kneeling man's head. The kneeling man shuddered; recoiling from the touch of the one he called Master. However, the Homunculus grasped his Servant's head tightly and prevented any escape.

"It will only take a second," the Homunculus said, pouring tainted into his own Servant. The Servant began to loosen within the Homunculus's grip, forgetting the urge to flee. It was then that the grand white wings on the back of the Servant began to burn. As if they had been placed over a large fire, the pure white feathers of the Servant's wings were eaten away by flames until there was nothing left but open wounds on his back. The Servant shook from immense pain, making no sound, as the Homunculus tutted to himself. "That was rather unexpected. I suppose you will have to be my fallen Angel."

The kneeling Servant achingly tried to stand before his Master. He matched the height of his inhuman Master, his face rugged, but handsome and his eyes an unnaturally deep shade of red.

"I suppose that's another side-effect. The things one must do for complete control over one's subjects," muttered the Homunculus to himself, grasping the chin of its Servant and changing the angle of his head, observing his crimson eyes. They seemed glazed over, unfocused, as the Homunculus investigated them. Letting go, he addressed his Servant. "What is your Class, Servant?"

"I am…" mumbled the Servant, his eyes gaining a sudden spark of life and immediately fixating on his Master's face. "Saviour." A thin, sick smile spread across the inhuman face of the new Master of the Holy Grail War.

_Perfect._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_  
><em>

Another chapter done! I really hoped you liked this one. ^^

It hurt to write one particular scene. What one, I'm sure you can take a good guess on.

Things are about to heat up, I think! :D

Until next time!


	19. Amour et la Haine

Chapter 19  
>Amour et la Haine<p>

"I don't think it was wise to let him go to his room alone with that weapon," Lancer said, sitting awkwardly against the wall of Torsten's living room and breaking an uneasy silence, her wounds not present at a glance, but still in the midst of healing. Recounting the nights events to Chevalier, who was fit enough now to sit upright, was not an easy task for the two Servants and Josephine Roux. Torsten had immediately adjourned to his room, carrying with him a large scythe he had not left his home with. "He is not in his right mind."

"Whits he gonna dae, off himself?" Saber snapped, incredulous. Lancer gave Saber an odd look; part confusion, part anger. "I'm sorry. Tonight's left me a bit out o' sorts…"

"Are you alright, Josephine?" The priest asked as Roux sat next to him on the couch, staring a hole into the wall in front of her. The priest wrapped an arm around, squeezing her back into reality.

"Ok? I don't know," she croaked, clearing her throat. "I murdered someone. I suppose it's something you never get used to?" Her question begged for reassurance.

"She was an enemy that you rightfully perceived to be attacking Torsten. You did no wrong, Master," Lancer said sharply, moving to her knee in front of Roux. "But… It certainly does not get any easier." Roux gave a heavy hearted nod, before standing from Chevalier's grasp.

"Where are ye going?" asked Saber. Lancer stood silently to make room for her Master leaving the room.

"To snap Torsten out of whatever has derailed his mind. I knew this War would be too much for him. The only thing I can do now is to set him straight," Roux said, Saber getting up to follow her. She turned to face the Servant at the bottom of the stairs. "Right?"

"Right, but I'd better talk tae him first." Saber moved past Roux up the stairs. "I owe him a boot up the arse."

"What?!" Roux exclaimed as Saber continued up the stairs.

"I'll come an' get ye when I'm done, lassie!"

* * *

><p>"This is fucked." Torsten sat on his bed, the scythe that once belonged to Cecile lying on the floor at his feet. His head in his hands, he rubbed at his eyes as if to try and wake from a bad dream.<p>

_I can't do this anymore… I just can't._

The young magus flung himself flat onto his bed, the thought of even looking at the scythe he took with him too much to bear.

"Why did I even bring the goddamn thing with me?" he groaned.

"I'll tell ye why," barked Saber as he slammed open the door to Torsten's room, spiritualisation lacking a certain presence, he felt. "You brought it home wi' ye because ye didnae want tae forget that Cecile. Ye wanted to wallow in self-pity like a useless toe-rag!" Torsten shot up before his Servant as Saber approached, kicking the scythe away to the side.

"What the he-" Torsten managed to blurt out before Saber grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him clear off the bed and off the ground altogether.

"Shut it, it's my turn tae speak!" Saber roared in his own Master's face before turning to face the wall and shoving Torsten up against it. Hard. Receiving only a grunt of pain and a perplexed face, Saber decided his order got through. "Whit is wrong with you? Ye know what? Donnae you answer that. I know whit's wrong. The real question is dae _you_?"

"What the fuck are you talking about Saber?!" Torsten yelled, grabbing at the large hairy arm that held him against the wall. The Servant tightened his grip. "Let me go right now!"

* * *

><p>As Roux sat back next to Chevalier, a dull but loud thumped resonated from upstairs to the living room. The three occupants of the living room looked at each other before the sound of yelling could be heard as well.<p>

"He's not… Is he?" Chevalier said under his breath.

"I had to let him go first, didn't I?" Roux exclaimed, crossing her arms.

"You're not… disappointed you didn't get to lay into him are you, Master?" Lancer asked, trying hard to keep the small smirk on her face from showing.

"I'm nothing of the sort!" Roux shot back, hurriedly and red faced. "I… I don't think I could hit him anyway…"

* * *

><p>"Let ye go? Make me, Master," growled Saber, clutching Torsten's shirt tighter. Torsten clawed at his Servant's arm again, failing to even make the hulking man flinch, his lips curling into a snarl of frustration.<p>

"What do you think you're doing?" said Torsten through gritted teeth.

"You need tae get a goddamn hold o' your sorry self," Saber said, ignoring his Master's questions. "That lass downstairs saved your life. She didnae do so through obligation, ye know! Donnae you understand what that means?" Saber received only a cold hard stare in reply. Saber sighed.

"My Master cannae be that dense!" Saber roared, deafening his Master. Torsten's anger started fade in the face of Saber's, his heart racing. "She…" The words caught in Saber's throat.

"That lass loves you." The large Servant's usually booming voice lowered to a softness Torsten had never heard before. "You really cannae see it?"

"I…" Torsten managed before succumbing to bewilderment.

"She tried to completely alienate hersel' from ye tae keep you oot o' the war, she's tried to be with ye ever since that plan failed and now she's sacrificed a Command Spell tae save your life! You may be old friends, but this is different! Ye've no' seen the way she looks at you?" Saber blurted out, quiet but frustrated. Before Torsten could speak, his Servant continued. "No, you obviously havenae! She saves your life and you give her a look I never thought I'd see from my own Master. Never did I think you'd look upon anyone is such a vile manner, never mind our Roux. But, what dae ye dae know? You sit in your room and wallow in your own self-pity!" Saber released Torsten from his grasp and the young Master fell to the floor. The Servant made his way to the scythe he had kicked away, picking it up.

"You can't be serious… About Roux?" Torsten groaned, standing before Saber. Holding Cecile's scythe in front of him, Saber almost laughed at the question.

"Dae I look like I'm kiddin' tae you?"

"No… No, you don't…" sighed Torsten, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Just what have I done?"

"You've been an ijit, that's what. I'm just here tae tell ye that, because the lass herself wanted to speak with you," Saber said, looking over the scythe in his hands. "But I also need ye tae answer some questions for me."

"Fine… shoot," mumbled Torsten, whatever fire he once had now long gone.

"Just why did you bring this thing wi' ye?" Saber asked, holding out the scythe. Torsten heaved a shuddering sigh.

"I didn't want her to be forgotten." The young Master answered bluntly, much to Saber's surprise. "I couldn't take her with me, so… I took what I thought she cherished. This scythe is as much a part of her as her own heart. She was about to run… To escape everything! But she was right: she was too late. She didn't deserve to die, and I couldn't help the fact she did. I'd like to think I can at least remember her, so she doesn't disappear forever." Saber chuckled. "What's so funny?"

"Nothin'. Nothin' at all. Anyway, next question: dae ye really have no idea what our lass thinks of you?" Saber decided ask his question straight, preventing his Master from dodging the issue.

"I… I don't know," murmured Torsten, looking away from Saber. The Large Servant leaned in and around his Master, forcing himself into Torsten's gaze.

"You don't know?" Saber asked, incredulous.

"I've known her since I was a kid! I just…" Torsten trailed off.

"I'm going tae let Roux come up here now," Saber said, handing the scythe to Torsten and making for the door. "But I'll leave you to think on something just before Roux gets up here: I've seen no man alive stand up for a lass like you did for Roux tonight against that Caster, that didnae have feelings for the lass he stood up for. Anyway, I'll go fetch her now!"

"Wait!" cried Torsten, but Saber was already out the door, closing it behind him.

_Ugh… Idiot…_

* * *

><p>It had been a tense silence downstairs ever since the shouting upstairs petered off, Chevalier trying his hand successfully at walking a few times and Lancer spiritualising once more for the sake of healing her wounds. Roux sat on the couch as Chevalier paced backwards and forwards in front of her, slowly regaining his sense of balance after being off his feet for days.<p>

"Alright, ye can go see him now," came Saber's Scottish drawl from just outside the living room, his body soon following. "But I had tae rough him up a bit!" The shocked look of Roux only made Saber's smile wider.

"You didn't…" groaned Roux, standing sharply and walking swiftly past the large Servant, out of the room. Bursting into a booming bout of laughter, Saber took a seat on the couch.

"Oh you bet I did!" the Servant called as Roux's feet could be heard pounding on the stairway.

"You didn't really, did you?" Chevalier asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"Of course not!" exclaimed Saber. The Servant leaned in closer to the priest, staring to whisper. "But that's no fun to tell the lass now, is it?" Heaving a sigh, the priest sat beside Saber.

"But, speaking seriously, Father," Saber said, lowering his voice. "Actually, wait. Lancer, you here?" He received no answer. "Huh. Never expected she would try and get a wee ear in on Torsten and Roux. Anyway, you'll have tae dae by yourself, Father."

"What is it?"

"I think I received a warning that ye ought tae hear."

* * *

><p>The door to Torsten's room slammed open, Torsten almost jumping out of his skin, as Roux strode into the room. She immediately started grabbing at Torsten's arms and shoving her face almost right into his, as if she was looking for something.<p>

"Whoa, whoa, what is it?" Torsten asked, trying to take back his arm that Roux had attempted to steal from him. She gave him a worried look.

"That Saber said he had to rough you up. We heard as much downstairs!" Roux exclaimed sitting down next to Torsten. "Let me guess… that was bullshit?"

"Ehehe, yeah, I guess it was. I thought he was going to mess me up at one point!" Torsten leaned back on the bed, the scythe behind him. There was a pause for a moment, awkward and silent. "Sorry."

"Eh? What?" Roux asked. Torsten looked away from her, trying to avoid locking his gaze with hers.

"I'm sorry for tonight, Jo. That was stupid of me, acting like you did something horrible," Torsten said, knowing he should be looking Roux in the eye. "I'm actually grateful. You saved my life."

"I'm just glad you're alive, Torsten. It's just like you to go out of your way to try and save someone else by putting yourself in harm's way like an idiot. But apology accepted." Roux leant back to match Torsten, extending an arm out to turn his head around to face hers. He didn't resist. "What I want to know is if you're OK. When you shouted about your father, well, I got worried."

"I'm… fine. I think it was just anger about this entire War getting out. I just don't know if I can handle killing someone again. Directly or indirectly. And my father… My father must have known the War was like this? Why did he make me promise? He knew I would follow through if I promised him." Roux could see the desperation for answers in Torsten's eyes.

"Listen," Roux sat herself back up again and pulled Torsten up with her. She twinged from her wounds she received from Cecile, the adrenaline finally lowering enough to prevent the inhibition of pain. Before continuing she gave a wave of dismissal to a worried looking Torsten. "Richter Amsel was a kind and gentle man. The most thoughtful Magus I have ever had the privilege to know. He was like a second father to me and I know, as you do yourself, that if he wanted you in this War, he had a good reason for it. It was not to punish you or to put you through hardship for the sake of torment. I can't say I know why he asked you to enter this War, but it was not out of malice. I promise you that."

"And, trying to save Cecile was a noble thing to do, you know?" She motioned to the scythe on the bed behind them. "I knew you couldn't leave her behind. When you picked up the scythe I knew it was to keep her alive in some way."

"Jeez, you know me that well, huh?" chuckled Torsten, smiling for the first time after that night's brutality.

"I'd like to think so," Roux replied, a huge grin spread across her face.

"Th-thanks, Jo. I couldn't ask for a better…" Torsten trailed off.

"Wh-what is it?" stammered Roux, aware she was staring right at Torsten and him at her. The idea to turn away flashed over both their minds, but it was overridden by something stronger. Something more potent that had been waiting for it's time to shine within both the young Masters.

Slowly, the pair leaned in towards each other, synchronised, their faces a hair's breadth apart in one final hesitation, with their hearts beginning to race. Torsten could feel Roux's warm breath on his cheek as he stared into her blue eyes. Roux took a quick hold of Torsten's hand. Then, as if their very minds had united in thought, the pair of young lovers closed the final distance between them and united in a kiss.

Roux, releasing her grasp on Torsten's hand, wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. As the pair closed their eyes, Torsten returned the embrace and fell backwards onto the bed, Roux now lying on top of him. As her long auburn hair fell down around their heads, they released each other from the kiss. Roux giggled as Torsten opened his eyes to find himself trapped in a cage made by Roux's own hair. Taking his hand from the small of Roux's back, Torsten caressed her cheek as she moved into his hand.

"I was going to say 'friend'," Torsten said, trying hard not to laugh. "But I guess that's old news now." That only seemed to intensify Roux's bout of the giggles.

"Yeah, I'd say so." Roux leaned in for another kiss, this time a quick peck on the cheek, when there came a yell from downstairs.

"Torsten! Roux! I need to speak to you right now!" Footsteps could be heard echoing upwards from the bottom of the stairs and, judging by the accent of the yell, it was Chevalier that had called for them. Heaving a sigh that parted her hair, Roux rolled over on the bed off of Torsten.

"We're coming, we're coming!" Torsten called out, the footsteps outside slowing.

It was then that in the corner of Torsten's eye, from a haze of sparkling gold, Lancer materialised at the far end of the bed. Her face was beetroot red. Torsten's mouth dropped and the golden haired Servant tried to look everywhere but Torsten's face.

"So you finally decided to show yourself!" exclaimed Roux. "It's not nice to snoop, Lancer!"

"She… While you and… The whole time?!" spluttered Torsten, his face matching Lancer's.

"Seems that way. I guess you didn't trust us alone together, did you?" joked Roux as Lancer squirmed on the spot.

"M-My most sincere apologies! I never meant to see _that_, I was just..." Lancer bit her lip. As shocked as Torsten was, he couldn't help but find Lancer's reaction amusing. Cute, even.

"You were just…?" Roux said, delighting in her Servant's embarrassment.

"I was worried. About the both of you." Lancer answered bluntly, her blue piercing blue eyes unwavering when looking upon her Master.

"Thank you, Lancer," Torsten said, attempting to put Lancer at ease. The small smile on Lancer's face made it clear it worked.

"Well, come on," Roux said, hopping up from the side of the bed. "I think Chevalier is dragging himself up those stairs to get us!"

* * *

><p>"Whit's wrang wi' you?" Saber asked a still red faced Lancer with a cheeky smile as she walked into the living room behind Chevalier, Torsten and Lancer.<p>

"Nothing that concerns you, Saber," she replied tersely, standing by the side of Roux who chose to sit in the armchair.

"Aye, aye, I hear ye," Saber chuckled, getting up to give his Master a seat on the couch. "And what's your story, eh? The pair o' ye look a little more… dishevelled than when you went in there." The Servant's grin grew wider as Torsten's look grew sour.

"Quiet you!" Roux snapped. Saber shrugged and sat on his haunches beside his Master.

"Never meant to touch a nerve," Saber said, pausing for a second. "Good one, Lover boy!" He gave Torsten a wink.

"Saber!" Roux cried, exasperated.

"Well it's not like it's a secret anymore is it? I mean look at Lancer. I could have sworn she'd turned into a bloody beetroot seeing as how red her face was when she walked in!" Saber said in his defence, trying to speak through his own guffaws.

"Please, this is serious, Saber," Chevalier interjected, sitting beside Torsten.

"I know, I know, I was only joking!" Saber motioned to the priest to start when ready.

"To cut a long story short, I think I've deduced the identity of the homunculus locked beneath the church," the priest said, sounding much healthier than he had the past few days. "However, I need one last piece of the puzzle that our own Josephine may know."

"Me? What do you think I know?"

"I would bet that you know where the homunculus comes from. It was the Roux family that supplied it, after it being found as the last Grail prepared homunculus." Chevalier raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Well, I had to do some research on the exact location, as my father refused to tell me much about it. But I did find out the castle where it was found, yes."

"And?"

"It was an old Einzbern castle named only 'Höllenschlund'. I told you about it right before the passed out after reaching the house, actually, now that I think about it." Roux remembered when she found out the name of the castle, although it meant very little considering she found little else.

"I thought as much. Then I suspect it's as I feared," Chevalier said, voice low. "I believe I do indeed know the identity of our homunculus. Or at least what it is channelling."

"Well? Who or what is it?" Torsten asked. The priest chuckled to himself.

"If you know your scripture, you should be able to work it out yourself." The priest held out a closed fist and proceeded to list off facts. "One: when I tried to escape from the homunculus, it began to breathe fire. Two: it quoted scripture to me, albeit augmented to work with speech. That scripture was 'You thought you could make a pet of me?' from Job 41:5. It's a slight bastardisation of the line, but it's still apt. Three: It was found in a castle called 'Höllenschlund', which is German for?" The priest looked at Torsten expectantly.

"Hellmouth, right? Well, _the_ Hellmouth."

"Right. And, finally, Saber received a warning from that demon he fought tonight."

"Mephistopheles himself, no less," Saber clarified. "He said that he was not the only beast of Hell in this War. And that the other beast permeated the very core of the Grail War."

"I can only think of… No… It can't be!" Roux said under her breath, her mind assembling the pieces of the puzzle.

"What? Who is it?" Torsten asked.

"Well, all the signs point to… the Leviathan," Chevalier said in a hushed tone.

"Leviathan? The gatekeeper of Hell?" asked Torsten bewildered until the truth dawned on him. "Oh my God… Hellmouth. _The_ Hellmouth! The very gates of Hell is called the Hellmouth. Not to mention the Leviathan was a breather of fire…"

"And Job 41 served as a description for the gatekeeper of hell, referencing his untameable nature," the priest added, trying to further everyone's understanding.

"This is madness," Lancer declared. "How can that homunculus be the Leviathan? The Leviathan was a great sea creature whose duty was to guard the gates of Hell."

"Well, by all appearances, this madness is real. That homunculus is somehow connected to the Leviathan. By all regards, it seems to _be_ the Leviathan. Or a manifestation of it." The priest crossed his arms, trying to think of an explanation.

"So… the Leviathan is a real thing?" Torsten asked the priest.

"Not necessarily, no," Roux interjected before Chevalier could answer. "Regardless of whether or not the Leviathan is real, the very idea of the Leviathan, a savage beast that acts as one of seven Princes of Hell, can be real enough to manifest such a figure in a plane like the Throne of Heroes."

"So, ye think it's from the Throne of Heroes like us?" Saber asked, motioning to Lancer and himself.

"It's a possibility, and the most likely one at that. The question to answer isn't whether or not the Leviathan is real. That's pointless. If Chevalier is correct in his deduction, which I would say he is, that homunculus is channelling the Leviathan." Roux stood and began to pace as she talked.

"So my father was right. The Throne of Heroes is corrupted. He had mentioned it to me before, when talking of the War, in passing, saying that the Grail itself was tainted," Torsten began to explain. "But he said that the dismantling of the Great Grail would perhaps have reversed the effect."

"It may have reversed that effect yes. But the key thing here is that it 'may have'," Roux assessed, turning to Torsten. "And even if the effects were reversed, and the Throne of Heroes was cleansed, the actual question of the nature of the homunculus itself must be brought up. It was found abandoned in a rundown Einzbern castle named 'Höllenschlund'. Surely it must be some ridiculous experiment by the Einzberns? An attempt to channel a specific spirit into a homunculus?"

"I don't suppose it would matter now, would it? Regardless of its purpose or origin, it is highly unusual for the homunculus at the centre of the Grail War to anything this abnormal," Chevalier explained. "It must be stopped."

"Do you trust us to fight it now?" Torsten asked out of the blue, taking everyone in the room by surprise. Saber burst into laughter.

"So that's your first thought when you're told it has tae be put down?" roared the Scottish Servant standing and slapping a sitting Torsten on the back so hard he almost flew off the couch. "I think I'm starting tae rub off on ye!" Chevalier couldn't help but laugh himself.

"I don't think it's wise to go toe-to-toe with that thing if I couldn't handle it," the priest began. "But, I don't suppose we have many other options open to us now, do we? Calling in the Church would lead to no end of trouble, and the Mage's Association would also cause problems."

"I think it's best if we handle this internally within the Grail War until such times as it grows completely beyond the scope of our power," Roux said with a self-satisfied smirk. "Like I originally said we should."

"Yes, yes, I know. I said I wouldn't stop you anymore, and I won't," Chevalier admitted, much to his chagrin. "I'll just have to help you when I'm able bodied enough." The priest clenched a fist, testing his own strength.

"Well, if that's all said and done, there one last thing I want to clarify," Saber said, turning to Lancer who, not surprised at the look, gave a sigh. "You used Gungnir tonight, didn't you?"

"You may as well just tell them now, Lancer," Roux said before Lancer could answer.

"Very well. I did use Gungnir tonight. It was a gift from the ruler of Asgard, Odin," Lancer declared matter-of-factly. It was then she noticed Torsten's eyes lighting up and gave him a quizzical look.

"So, you're a Valkyrie?!" Torsten blurted out, almost lunging forward off of the couch with excitement. Lancer flinched in surprise at the blunt question, unused to such attention.

"Yes, actually… How did you guess?" she asked, softly laughing.

"Well… You looked like how I always imagined one would…" Torsten uttered quietly, suddenly embarrassed.

"Jeez, Torsten…" Roux groaned in mock frustration. Lancer's laughter grew fuller, warranting a surprised look from everyone else in the room. Clearing her throat and returning to her usual reservedness, she continued.

"I am Brynhildr, Valkyrie of Asgard," said Lancer, nodding her head to Torsten, Saber and Chevalier. "At your service."

"Alright, I think we should all get some sleep, considering the sun is almost coming up," Chevalier said, shooing Torsten from the couch. Roux yawned at the very idea of sleep and, stretching as he stood, Torsten had to agree with the priest.

"Sounds like a plan!" Saber said, spiritualising. Lancer nodded to her Master and reduced herself to nothingness also.

Torsten made for the stairs when he felt a tug on his hand. Roux had grabbed it and started walking by his side. Torsten hesitated for a second, surprised.

"What's wrong?" asked Roux. Torsten shook his head, and started moving again.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." He smiled, holding tightly onto Josephine Roux's hand.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter done! This one took some work to make... 'classy', if you catch my drift. ^^

I hope you all enjoyed it, as usual, and that some questions have been answered and many others raised!

Tune in next time!


	20. L'Assassinat

Chapter 20  
>L'Assassinat<p>

Awakening to the dull orange light of sunset that streamed through Torsten's bedroom window, Josephine Roux found she still clung tightly to Torsten. He faced her, still asleep, softly snoring. To the disappointment of both Magi, going to bed had brought more pain than pleasure, as wounds from the battle with Cecile and Caster became apparent in the peace after the fact. Roux had escaped with rather light gashes considering the intensity of the fight with Cecile, but Torsten had not been so lucky. His injured leg began to ache, Roux helping him to bandage it properly. They spent the night in each other's arms, drifting off to sleep when their bodies allowed it, at the behest of Roux.

_He's going to have trouble with that leg for some time I imagine, _she pondered as she lay enjoying the warmth of Torsten's body against hers. _Not to mention Lancer is still in poor shape, despite what she would say if I asked. In that case, there's not much left we can do but…_ No one was watching, but a sly smile slowly crept its way across her face. She took a deep breath.

"Time to wake up!" Roux hollered into Torsten's face. Eyes springing open, Torsten let out a yelp of surprise as he tried to roll away from the source of the noise. It was then that Roux realised her mistake.

"Woah!" She cried, as Torsten rolled off the side of the bed, still clinging to her and, for her part, still holding onto to Torsten. He landed on his backside, wincing as he collided with the floor, when he was flattened as Roux fell directly on top of him, tangled in the bed sheet that had managed to catch itself on her. For a second the pair lay there, stunned.

"Ugh, that was stupid," Roux grunted, trying unsuccessfully to untangle herself from the sheet while still on top of Torsten.

"You're telling me, Jo," Torsten groaned. He wouldn't say it out loud, but Roux was heavier than she looked. He tried to shuffle from under her, but it proved futile, Torsten lodging his face under where, he suspected, Roux's chest lay. "Could you get off me, perhaps?" She gave a laugh.

"Oh, right!" She rolled over and stood, Torsten slowly standing after her. He tried to avoid putting weight on his injured leg, the pain enough to impair even walking to a degree. "Is it feeling any better?"

"Not after that it's not!" Torsten chuckled, stretching his leg a little to prove he was joking. Roux's sigh of relief was music to his ears. There was a pause for a second, Roux untangling herself from the sheet. It was then he remembered that Roux was wearing nothing but her underwear. Torsten kept staring, Roux seemingly oblivious. For his part, Torsten had gone to bed in a pair of shorts. He grabbed a shirt off the floor and pulled it on quickly. "I-I'd better get downstairs. Who wants to bet Chevalier is up and about already?"

"I'll go with you, just hold on a sec," Roux said, searching the bedroom, which looked as if a bomb had gone off in someone's closet, for something to wear. "Ah ha!" Roux stumbled upon her skirt that had been abandoned last night and grabbed a random black shirt while she was at it.

"You twa' up yet? It's already 6pm!" The gruff voice of Saber called out from at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," Torsten called as Roux slinked her skirt up around her thighs and slipped the shirt on.

"Ready?" Roux asked with a single raised eyebrow.

"Y-yeah."

"Ok then, let's go!" Roux said, grabbing Torsten's arm as they started down the stairs, helping him stay balanced. Saber awaited them at the bottom of the flight, looking concerned.

"That leg alright there, lad?" He said, walking with the pair as they proceeded to the living room. Torsten gave a confident nod. Saber replied in turn, satisfied.

"So they are up! Finally, I can prepare what I bought." Chevalier stood from the couch with surprising vigour, striding towards the kitchen out of the living room. "You two are in for a treat."

"I'm pretty starved now that you mention it," Torsten said, Roux nodding energetically in approval. Lancer sat in Roux's usual armchair, standing when she approached.

"Good morn- Well, good evening, Master," Lancer said, standing at attention beside Roux as shit sat. Torsten lowered himself onto the couch, Saber sitting beside him. He materialised his great blade, proceeding to clean it in his meditative fashion.

_Hah, _Torsten thought at the sight of a calm Saber. _Haven't seen him this peaceful for a while. _With a quick clearing of the throat, Roux gathered everyone's attention.

"I was thinking that we need to organise ourselves a little better. There's no need to hide Servant identities any more considering they aren't hidden any more in the first place," Roux proposed, eyeing both Saber and Lancer in turn. "As such, I think it would be best to speak openly about the potential power you two share. We still have Berserker and Assassin to face, ignoring the homunculus that needs putting down. Agreed?"

"Sounds alright to me. Saber?" Torsten asked. The large Servant looked up from his sword.

"If it's alright with you, it's alright with me," Saber declared, putting aside his weapon to fully join the conversation. Lancer gave a curt nod to her Master, if only thanks to courtesy.

"Very well, if you'd like to start, Lancer?" Roux said, Lancer again nodding. The golden haired servant stood ready and formed her spear, Gungnir, in one hand.

"This is Gungnir," Lancer said, holding the spear aloft before her. "It is an Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm, capable and fated to pierce anything when activated. It cannot miss, however it need only hit the target anywhere to count. It does not come with the guarantee of certain death to the opponent, nor can I wield if as efficiently as I would like. Being the weapon of a God, and not my own at that, it takes an extra toll on me to utilise it. Torsten knows first-hand what it is capable of."

Cringing at the thought, Torsten remembered the night before. It still stuck vividly in his mind as if it had happened only second ago. However, he remembered little of the blindingly bright spear that pierced Cecile Prideaux's chest, and more so the sadness on her face as she fell and the weight of her body in his arms. Lancer placed a hand on Torsten's shoulder.

"I apologise. That was insensitive of me," Lancer said, her face sad and her voice soft. Unusually so. Torsten tried to smile.

"It's alright. I have to live with what happened. Not talking about it ever again isn't going to help. She wouldn't want that anyway. Not to mention, it's no one's fault." Torsten spoke bluntly, but from the heart, looking Lancer in the eye with his last sentence. Lancer's concern turned to relief in the blink of an eye. "Please, continue."

"Very well," Lancer said, dissipating Gungnir. "I would usually have another weapon to show you. The almighty Gram, the weapon of Sigmund, also left in my care. However…" Lancer trailed off.

"Lancer used it as a Broken Phantasm against Berserker," Roux said, finishing Lancer's explanation. "And you know how effective that turned out to be." Torsten thought back to Berserker's appearance when they confronted her, saving Roux and Lancer from certain defeat and a painful death. There was not a scratch on her, save for her shield appearing rough and splintered.

"Bloody hell… You used a _Broken Phantasm_ on that thing and that's all it did?!" Saber exclaimed, astonished. "Just what in the hell could withstand that?" Lancer shook her head, unable to answer.

"I do, however, have a single remaining Noble Phantasm," Lancer said, extending an open hand, a small golden band forming over her palm. "This is the cursed ring; Andvaranaut, the 'Gift of Andvari'. I received it last in a line of misfortune struck owners as a gift directly from the legendary Sigurd. It was cursed to bring pain and bad luck to those who wear it by the dwarf, Andvari, himself. Using Runic Magic, I can engrave it onto a Servant and permanently cripple them." She quickly dissolved the ring and withdrew her hand, returning to her usually reserved self.

"And, as one would expect of the Lancer class, her agility is unmatched by any other Servant in this War," Roux added, looking rather proud of herself and Lancer. As much as this wasn't a competition, Torsten couldn't help but get suckered into the spirit.

"Saber, if you would be so kind," Torsten prompted, Saber rolling his eyes at the false sense of confidence in his Master's voice.

"Lad, I havenae even told _you_ about most o' my powers. Ye've only seen them through the virtue of me havin' tae use them to save both your arses." Saber motioned to Roux and Torsten as he took up his sword, Roux bursting into her signature giggles. "Thank you, thank you." Saber made a small, if exaggerated, bow.

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it!" grumbled Torsten, annoyed.

"Alright then," Saber said, sweeping out his sword in front of him. "This is my blade, Uallas Claidheamh Mòr. The mystery that conceals the truth of my life is embodied by this blade. It's nae Gram or Excalibur, but unless I call out its name, most people cannae tell who am. If I do call out the name, the illusion vanishes, but I can unleash its full strength."

"Most people?" asked Roux, intrigued. "Who are the exceptions?"

"Men o' my own time and Servants with abilities that negate illusions. There's more, o' course, but that's the gist o' it." Saber dissolved his blade. "My other Noble Phantasm is the 'Árd Stirling Drochaid', as Torsten has heard. I don't believe the either of you ladies were conscious for it. Put simply, I can command the armies I formed tae fight the English during my lifetime."

"So you can summon familiars?" Torsten queried. Saber emphatically shook his head.

"It's much more than that, lad," Saber began to explain. "The soldiers I summon are familiars, yes, but the true form of the Noble Phantasm is the Stirling Bridge in Scotland; the site of my first major victory against English cavalry forces. It is a Reality Marble, allowing any form of military upset to occur in my favour."

"I don't think you've done that yet," Torsten joke. While he felt relieved he knew more about Saber's powers, it didn't change the fact he felt he should have been smart enough to ask Saber about them earlier.

"What's wrong?" Roux asked, noticing Torsten's furrowed brow. He just shook his head.

"Nothing really," said Torsten with a sigh. "I think it's just hitting me how badly I've been handling myself in this whole War. I couldn't bear to even defend myself properly against Adelheid, I almost let myself get killed by Cecile and I barely even knew anything about Saber's powers. I never even asked. And… Cecile's death was…" Torsten choked up.

"Well, it's not like its too late now, is it?" Lancer suddenly said. "You and Saber have survived despite whatever shortcomings you perceive in yourself. You saved both our lives, over and above surviving. It does no good to wallow in the negativity of the past. Learn and move forward; never forget, but never hesitate." For a second there was a stunned silence. Everyone but Lancer seemed shocked at her surprise lecture.

"You know what?" Torsten broke the silence. "You're right. I can't afford to dwell in the past any longer. Not when I have to find out what my father really wanted me in this War for. Not when the entire War itself is in trouble of turning into a bloodbath because of that Homunculus. I have to make… I have to make Cecile's death mean something. Thank you, Lancer." The golden hair servant nodded solemnly, content. Saber, looking impressed, took over.

"In that case, what's our next move?" He asked, clapping his hands together. "We need tae think forward now. Since I hardly think Torsten should be fighting on that leg, we need tae use this time wisely."

"Hey, I'll be fine in a da-" Torsten managed to say before Saber poked him sharply on his bandaged leg. "Ow, fuck! Saber!"

"Nae it won't," Saber said, Roux stifling a giggle and Lancer shaking her head.

"Before you abuse your own Master any more, you're right." Roux held back the laugh enough to speak with only a slight tweak of a grin on her lips. "We need to make some sort of plan of attack."

"What's our priority?" Torsten asked, still rubbing his leg from Saber's vicious attack. "The Homunculus or the remaining Masters?"

"As far as we know, the Homunculus is still locked in the bottom of the Church. However, there's no way we can be totally certain of that." Roux muttered.

"I think that Berserker should be our top priority," Lancer proposed, Saber nodding in agreement. "Regardless of how dangerous the Homunculus may be, Leviathan or not, we know Berserker is a force to be reckoned with."

"The fact that its Master seemed tae be a tit short of an udder doesnae help either," Saber added. "The guy's a nut. I wasnae even in his presence that long an' I could tell. He's dangerous enough as it is, never mind having that… thing under his command."

"What about Assassin?" Torsten asked. "Surely he's a threat now. He didn't have SWAT teams at his command when we first faced his goons." Roux nodded, silently contemplating the facts.

"Aye lad, but those familiars were still no match for any o' us. I still say Berserker is the bigger threat." Saber crossed his arms, sure of himself.

"I think he's right, Torsten. Berserker almost killed Lancer and me within minutes of meeting us," Roux argued. "Berserker is most certainly the biggest immediate threat which, I think, means we should take care of them first."

"Ok then, we're going after Berserker first. How are we going to check up on that Homunculus, though?" asked Torsten, unsettled. "We can't just act as if it's still trapped in the Church without knowing for sure." It was then that Torsten noticed a pungent aroma waft into the living room. It was familiar and made his stomach growl with anticipation.

"I can take of that, Torsten. I'll check the Church myself tomorrow," Chevalier said as he walked into the living room. "Dinner is ready. Tonight's dish is Boeuf en Croute." He spoke with a smile, and colour was back to his cheeks.

"What? How did you cook that up so fast?"Roux asked, standing to help Torsten get up and balance himself. The priest shrugged.

"I had it prepared for a while. I figured the pair of you would be starving when you finally dragged yourselves out of bed!" Chevalier laughed. Torsten was relieved to see him up and about again. "And after all the care you've given me, I think a little dinner is the least I can do."

"Thanks, but are you sure you can manage going to the Church tomorrow?" Torsten was still worried about Chevalier's condition. The pair of Master's and their Servants followed Chevalier to the kitchen.

"I'll go wi' em," Saber proposed. "Even if this Homunculus breaks out while he's there, I can handle him." The Scottish Servant gave Torsten a reassuring wink.

"That sounds like a plan," Chevalier agreed. "What do you say, Torsten?" They group reached the kitchen, the aroma of the meal to come overwhelming the two hungry Masters. Before them, two plates sat on the kitchen table.

"I say I need to eat before I give you an answer!" Torsten hobbled as fast as his leg would allow him and grabbed a plate, Roux following after giving Chevalier a quick shrug.

"Take that as a yes," she said before grabbing her own plate. "Torsten, Lancer and I can prepare for the next course of action while you and Saber check things out." Nodding emphatically, Torsten agreed with a mouth full of steak, pastry and mushrooms.

"Gimme some o' that," Saber said, trying to pinch a piece of his Master's meal. Turning his back on his own Servant, attempting to say something that could roughly be equated to 'Get your own!' if it wasn't completely incomprehensible thanks to a mouth filled with food. "You cannae even give yer own Servant a piece o' yer bloody steak!"

The pair proceeded to make a series of deft manoeuvres, Torsten expertly dodging Saber's attempts to steal his food without dropping a single piece on the floor or further aggravating his leg. Roux giggled, enjoying the show while both Chevalier and Lancer rolled their eyes in complete synchronisation.

"You think we should stop this?" Lancer asked, looking a little more than embarrassed for the pair fighting over food before her.

"Nah," Roux said, taking a fork full of beef and delicately eating it as if it were practiced art. "Let them have their fun."

_You mean your fun… _Lancer thought with a dry smile.

* * *

><p>It was pitch black as the solitary man swiftly glided around the warehouse in near silence. The soft rustling of the gear and weapons that hung from his combat webbing was negligible. He was assured by his employer that the Master and Servant that were his targets for the night were less than able when it came to perceptiveness. After spending the entire day observing the pair's movements, he was sure of the fact himself.<p>

The Soldier of Fortune, as he liked to be called, had found a complete lapse of any security on the warehouse that Takeo Kinjo and Berserker were using as a base. The security was so loose that the Soldier thought that it was a ruse to sucker in unsuspecting Masters and Servants to their own doom. However, after the day of observation, it was clear that Berserker's Master was simply inept and Berserker herself incapable of any clear thought to aid her Master.

_Fools. Lambs to the slaughter,_ the Soldier had referred to them in his mind on more than one occasion. Despite the sheer power of Berserker, which the Soldier would not dare underestimate, a lack of any tactical planning destroyed whatever advantage the Soldier perceived the pair having.

He came to the easiest entry into the warehouse: a staff door attached to a larger shipping door. To his mild amusement, the staff door was actually ajar, as if inviting him into the lion's den itself. Raising the MP5SD he held up to eye level, the Soldier approached the door and pushed it lightly then retracted just as quickly as he touched it. The door made no specific squeak or screech. He tested it again, finding it almost as silent as he. He slowly opened the door using the large, silenced barrel of his firearm and took careful steps inside, pulling down the night vision goggles on his forehead.

* * *

><p>Takeo Kinjo made large sweeps of his sword, his sword hitting nothing but air. This kind of training was like second nature to the Japanese Master; a part of everyday life. It kept his swordsmanship as sharp as his own blade and served as exercise in and of itself.<p>

Berserker stood in her usual silence. As far as Kinjo was concerned, she was watching his display, despite her eyes being devoid of any emotion whatsoever. In his mind, her silence was golden. Proof of her purity and royal lineage.

"That… Is enough for today," Kinjo said between panting breaths. Sheathing his blade and grabbing a rag from a nearby desk, he dried off the sweat that coated his bare upper body. Slicking back his thick black hair he sat behind an old foreman's desk and delicately placed his blade upon it. "I hope my display was satisfactory, Queen of the Iceni."

* * *

><p>The warehouse floor was large and mostly barren. Save for the odd empty box or piece of trash, the floor was bare. It was exactly what the Soldier feared; zero cover.<p>

_In and out,_ he reassured himself, taking off from the door and swiftly moving for the first of a series of four support columns that held up the roof. Across the other side of the warehouse, elevated and reachable by a stairway, the Soldier could see the offices where Kinjo and Berserker would be at that very moment. The green hue of the dark warehouse, as seen through his night vision goggles, warped into a brighter white thanks to the light emanating from the office windows.

Keeping low and avoiding directly eye contact with the light of the offices, he reached the first support. It was a simple steel girder, firmly built into the ground and riveted in place. Kneeling at the support beam's base, he retrieved a large plastic covered block of red clay like material from a pouch on his combat webbing. A label on the plastic coating said 'SEMTEX-1A' in large block letters. Letting his MP5SD hang from his gear, he tore open the package and proceeded to mould the plastic explosive around the column base.

_There's enough PETN in this thing to take down the entire building, but I have to be certain it all goes down…_

Opening one of five bulging pouches attached to his belt, he took a small black box with a wireless receiver and wire attached. At the end of the wire was an electrical based detonator, which he pressed into the Semtex spread around the base of support.

_One down…_

Flicking the switch on the box and placing it at the column base, the Soldier ran to the next column, repeating the process with haste with the remaining half of Semtex and another wireless detonator unit.

_Two down, two to go._

Moving onto the third column, he unwrapped another block of Semtex and repeated the process yet again.

_Three set…_

It was then that he heard a creaking of wood from the direction of the offices and spun around, sub machinegun at the ready. Even through the night vision goggles, he could see dust fall from the wooden bottom of the offices, but nothing else. He ducked to the side, behind the support column, and continued to watch with baited breath. The dust slowly settled on the floor and the Soldier could hear no other sounds but his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.

_Creaky fucking floorboards most likely._

The Soldier swiftly turned and ran to the next steel girder as fast as he could, setting up a final charge for the main supports.

_Now… The last charge._ He turned to the offices, looking at a thin metal piping that stood in the middle of the offices, helping to hold it off the floor. Moving at a slower but far more careful pace, the Soldier approached the offices, MPSSD up and safety off. In what seemed like an eternity, but was less than a minute in reality, the Soldier reached the metal support for the offices. He stood beneath the wooden floors and could hear soft steps and the occasional creak of wood.

The Soldier took his last package of Semtex and detonator and laid his final charge.

_Do-_ Another loud creak from the wooden floor above the Soldier made him spin, MP5SD up.

_That's it._

The Soldier took off in a light footed sprint to the door he came in, taking small glances back to the office.

_Clear._

* * *

><p>Kinjo paced around the office, itching for some kind of action. His hand, while fully functional once more thanks to his own skills, was not something he wished to take chances with. He had promised to his Queen that he would take one more day of rest.<p>

"You feel it too, do you not?" Kinjo probed his unwavering Servant. "That lust for battle. The need for… for carnage! Of course you do, my Queen Boudica. My warrior Queen!" The Japanese Master slammed the ground with his foot, the wooden floor almost breaking underneath the force of the blow.

Berserker, as always, stood silent. There were times where Takeo Kinjo would beg and plead for his Servant to break her golden silence and reassure him. This was one of those times. However, he could not raise a hand to her, nor force her to do anything. Takeo Kinjo deduced he had no right to destroy the purity and grace of his Queen until he had the Holy Grail in his hands and his wish for ultimate power over all granted. Berserker simply followed her Master and killed who he wished her to, but he would do nothing to force her if she refused.

For a time, he stood as motionless as Berserker herself and looked at his feet. He suddenly went tense, muscles tightening and veins bulging. Swinging around on the spot, he walked to the nearest desk, where his sword lay and flipped it with a single hand. It smashed to the floor, the wood beneath creaking loudly. His sword flew through the air in a high arc and clattered to the ground.

"Goddamnit!" he yelled. Shaking his head, the Master of Berserker retrieved his sword gripping tight enough to whiten his knuckles.

* * *

><p>The Soldier of Fortune reached his sniper's nest, overlooking the warehouse from three hundred metres away, atop the nearest office building. The chilling cold night air was extra biting at this altitude, but he had lived through worse. He strode swiftly to his set-up, quickly kneeling at the edge of the building and taking up his mounted SL9SD rifle. Custom fitted with its own night sights, he took a quick look through the scope at the target warehouse before grasping a radio from his belt.<p>

"This is Shock and Awe, do you read, over?" he spoke into the device. A moment of silence, then a reply.

"This is Master, we read you, over." The voice was either his Master's or his employer's. It didn't matter at this point who it was, however, as long as it was one of them.

"Target rigged and ready for ignition. Requesting orders, over?" asked the Soldier, taking a small black device not unlike a car alarm fob, only equipped with a folding black antenna from out of a pocket under his combat webbing and body armour. He flicked a small red switch on the side, arming the wireless detonator.

"In your own time, over." The radio went silent and the Soldier placed it back on his belt. Cracking his neck, he checked his rifle one last time. He ejected the clip, confirming it was full. The subsonic .300 Whisper rounds filled it to the brim.

_One can never be too careful. Never._

The Soldier considered the original intention of the plan. It was never to defeat Berserker and its Master outright, but to shake them both up; to instil an element of terror in at least the Master, to steal away the advantage of confidence. The Soldier had reservations about the chances of the plan succeeding in this goal, but his Employer had his Master convinced it would work and objections were ignored. If Berserker and it's Master were truly that terrifying, something like this would bring them no end of enjoyment.

_A challenge. This will be the hammer that fires the bullet._

"Here goes nothing," the Soldier said himself in a coarse and gravely voice. Placing a thumb above the red button of the detonator, he pressed it firmly down.

For three seconds, there was nothing but the sounds of the cold Lyon winds.

_BOOM._

Then, suddenly, the first explosion could be heard.

_BOOM._

Less than a second later, the next.

_BOOM._

And the next.

_BOOM._

And the next.

_BOOM._

And the final explosion.

All within the length of two seconds the five Semtex charges ignited and catastrophically annihilated the support beams of the warehouse. Its roof lurch upwards as the girders flew up and away from the force of the explosions, with the office shaking violently above its explosive and lurching forward and down as the support beneath buckled.

As the supports fell back to Earth, dragging the roof they were still attached to down and in with them with an ear piercing screech of metal, the office collapsed further into the warehouse. The roof came down atop the office rubble, the walls rippling outwards and downwards before crashing onto the pile of rubble that was once the warehouse.

From high up in his sniper's nest, the Soldier could see the entire collapsed warehouse without the need for using his SL9SD's scope. As the bent metal and wood of the warehouse finally went still, he reached for his radio. It was then that a piece of sheet metal was unceremoniously blasted upwards from the remnants of the warehouse.

* * *

><p>Takeo Kinjo did not have time to react to the explosions. The moment the Semtex ignited and disintegrated the base of the first support, the shock of the blast shattered the office windows inwards. The large figure of Berserker flung herself in between the flying glass shards and her Master, summoning her shield to absorb them. As the charge below the office went off, the wooden floor where the pair stood was splintered to pieces, shredding Kinjo's legs as the office itself lurch into the warehouse and the roof came down on top of Berserker and her Master. Kinjo lost sight of his Servant as he was pinned below the debris.<p>

Everything went black for the Japanese Master.

"Mas… ter…"

Kinjo came to, everything dark, but the sound of screeching metal nearby. He thought he heard a voice. There was crumpling of metal above him, and the sound of footsteps. It was then that dull moonlight flooded the small gap in the rubble where Kinjo lay, a sheet of metal being thrown clear off the top of him.

"My… Queen?" Kinjo croaked, trying to turn to the light and reach out a hand. His arm was grasped by Berserker who swiftly wrenched her Master free and lay him down on the rubble at her side.

* * *

><p><em>I knew that wouldn't finish either of them…<em> The Soldier thought, now choosing the convenience of the rifle's scope to observe the scene. Berserker's large figure stood between him and any possible clear shot on her Master, but the Soldier suspected this was through coincidence rather than any sort of planning.

The Soldier could see an outstretched arm from behind Berserker, clutching what appeared to be a Japanese style sword. The arm moved, an injured but alive Takeo Kinjo standing and coming into to full view of the Soldier and his SL9SD.

The Master's legs looked badly injured and he was having trouble walking. The Soldier took a sharp breath as he trudge slowly away from his Servant, Berserker not following.

_I can do this right now._ The Soldier of Fortune drew a bead on the head of Takeo Kinjo with his SL9SD, holding his breath entirely now for focus and balance. The Master turned around on the spot, looking confused as to what just happened. For a split second, he stood perfectly still.

_Fire._

The Soldier squeezed the trigger of his rifle, a .300 Whisper round flying from the SL9SD with a soft _slit_ sound. As the Soldier expected to see Kinjo's head snapback in a gout of blood, the hulking Berserker, shield raised, flew into the view of his scope and covered her Master.

"Shit! She noticed a subsonic fucking bullet?!" he swore as the bullet deflected off of the shield, it's wood hewn frame splintering but not breaking. Berserker looked around frantically, knowing there was danger but not from where. She took a small step back to reveal Kinjo, completely unharmed from the Soldier's bullet. However there was something on the Master's face that sent a chill down the veteran Soldier's spine.

"What the fuck is with that smile?" he asked himself, looking down his rifle scope at the most deranged grin he had ever seen. The grin turned into what appeared to be a raucous cackling.

_He's accepted the challenge alright._

"Shock and Awe, come in, over." The Soldier's radio buzzed into life. The Soldier slung his rifle on his back and took up his radio before heading for the roof door.

"This is Shock and Awe, over."

"What is the Mission status, over?" The voice from the radio asked. The Soldier froze in spot, one hand on the door to the roof. He sighed.

"Accomplished. Mission Accomplished, over."

"Status of targets, over?"

The Soldier started to move again, quickly moving down the stairs.

"Still alive, over," he admitted to the radio. There was a moment of silence.

"Hmm. No matter. Return to base, over." The radio went dead and the Soldier placed it back on his belt.

"'No matter'?" The Soldier laughed to himself as he kept up pace down the stairs. "I can already see the end of this war, and it's not going to be pretty."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Well, it's a bit of a milestone this time: Twenty full chapters! ^^

I'm surprised I've lasted this long to be quite honest. And I never expected such a warm reception either! To all reading, I give a very big thank you. Without you, this fic would have never have lasted, I don't think.

Since I'm on the topic of the fic's very existence, it's only fair that I give a big thank you, and shout out, to a fellow writer of mine by the name of reap3r. He has been a huge help throughout the life of Fate/Gallica, and this fic wouldn't have gotten off the ground in the first place without him! ^^;

Anyway, as usual, I hope everyone reading enjoyed this chapter. I most definitely enjoyed playing with some new ideas in it.

Tune in next time!


	21. Formation Pour L'Apocalypse

Chapter 21  
>Formation Pour L'Apocalypse<p>

"You think they will be alright?" asked Roux, Chevalier leaving Torsten's home with a spiritualised Saber in tow. She turned to Lancer, looking for reassurance.

"They will be fine. I cannot speak for the priest, but Saber can protect them both. Of that I'm sure." Lancer placed a hand on her Master's shoulder as they returned to the living room from the front door. Torsten was already seated on the couch, resting his leg.

"Lancer is right about Saber," he agreed. "And you don't have to worry about Chevalier. Guillaume may have been bested once, but I doubt that will happen again. He's… something else." Roux nodded and slumped into her usual armchair, Lancer standing by her side as usual.

"How's your leg?" Roux leaned over to look at Torsten's injured leg that was lying across the couch. He swung it round and stood up smoothly, if slowly.

"Feels a lot better, actually," Torsten said, with a light wince. "A still a bit sore but I can walk at the very least. And I'm safe from any harm Saber could do to it today too." He walked around in a circle, proving his point.

"Good!" Roux exclaimed, surprised by the speed with which Torsten was already back on his own two feet without help. "But now what to do about Berserker. It's going to be no simple matter fighting that beast." Lancer cleared her throat.

"If I may make a suggestion, Master?" Lancer asked, trying as hard as possible to be respectful. Roux just shook her head.

"We've been through this. You're my partner. You can say what you like in my presence, okay?" Roux insisted. She noticed Lancer's eyes dart away and sighed. "What do you suggest we do, Lancer?"

"Well, the problem isn't so much Berserker, is it?" Lancer proposed. Both Torsten and Roux shot the Servant quizzical looks.

"What do you mean?" Torsten asked, sitting back down.

"I mean that you two aren't going to fighting Berserker directly. At least, that is by no means our intentions, is it?" Lancer began pacing in front of the two Masters as she explained herself. "Saber and I can handle Berserker. It may be a beast with awesome power, but combined I know we can defeat it. If it is a conflict between Servants, Saber and I can endure." Torsten started to understand the meaning behind Lancer's explanation, nodding along.

"However, it is the two of you I worry about. You have to face Berserker's Master. Saber told me what he was like, and Torsten should know. None of us saw his skills, but judging by the blade he held and his demeanour, he is not one to be underestimated under any circumstances." Lancer stopped and turned so she faced both Masters. "Which is why the two of you need to make sure you are prepared for the fight ahead?"

"Lancer's right. We need a plan to fight Berserker's Master over Berserker itself," agreed Torsten.

"Lancer," Roux said suddenly.

"Yes, Master?"

"You should talk more." Roux stood up and strode out of the living room.

"Where are you going?" Torsten asked after her. Roux's shoes could be heard pounding up the stairs.

"Just to get something," she called back. "Be back in a sec." Torsten gave Lancer a confused look to which she could only give an equally confused shrug.

* * *

><p>Guillaume Chevalier walked with a brisk pace to the Church. Having reached the outskirts of central Lyon, Saber saw it fit to materialise. It was a suburban area with very few people, not to mention Saber's attire, while odd, was not completely out of the realms of possibility. The pair walked in silence for a time, the thoughts of what they might encounter ahead floating around in their minds. However, Saber had questions he wanted answered.<p>

"So tell me," the Servant asked casually. Chevalier did not turn his head. "What dae ye know about this War?" Saber eyed the priest as he asked his question. He seemed unresponsive.

"You've asked me that already, haven't you?" Chevalier said with a small smile. He finally turned to Saber, a grin on his face. "I know as much as you do, Saber." Saber scoffed as loud as he could manage without making himself look stupid.

"I find it hard tae believe that the Observer of the Grail War, a tool of the Church, wasnae enlightened tae more than you originally told us." Chevalier, not skipping a beat, let out a chuckle.

"You've never trusted me, have you, Saber?" Chevalier shot the Servant a cold look. Saber could see little in his eyes but hate for split second, but only that split second. "I have told you all that I know. I am not your enemy."

"I never said ye were."

"You didn't have to." The priest was blunt. Halting in his tracks, Chevalier held his gaze upon Saber. Neither backed down, standing in a moment of tense silence, until the priest shook his head in disdain. "This is ridiculous."

"Oh aye," Saber agreed, frustrated. "We're supposed to taking a look at the Church."

"Yes, because I was the one that made the accusations that led as to this point in the first place." Chevalier's sarcastic reply made the Servant give an unintentional twitch of the mouth. The priest sighed. "The only thing that I know that I have withheld, I have withheld for the sake of Torsten and Josephine."

"I knew it," Saber roared out of excitement rather than anger. "Wait, for their sake? Why for their sake?"

"Josephine should already know this, but it's more the implications of it that may not have dawned on her." Chevalier began walking again, this time, slowly and meditative. Saber followed. "I believe I've already mentioned it before, but never elaborated."

"What are ye talking about?"

"Why do you think the Great Grail is on the Roux family's grounds?" Saber had no answer to give to priest, giving only a shrug of his broad shoulders. "The Roux family was the family to find the Homunculus. The head of the family, one Xavier Roux, insisted that a Holy Grail War be conducted using the Homunculus and the dismantled Great Grail. That is why it is being conducted in Lyon, in the Roux family's own backyard."

"Surely ye arennae implying...?" Saber said. Chevalier's grim looking face was answer enough to the Servant. "Ye really think that this Xavier knew this would happen?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Xavier Roux is a powerful man; a dangerous man," Chevalier said slowly and in a low voice. "He has a single minded obsession, Saber."

"And that obsession is?" Saber asked.

"The obsession that plagues many a great Magi's mind: reaching the Origin."

* * *

><p>"That's what you wanted?" Torsten asked as Jo strode into the living room once more, the scythe that once belonged to Cecile delicately balanced on one shoulder. She replied with a wave of her finger and handed the scythe to Torsten.<p>

"Analyse it." Jo tapped her foot as she waited in front of Torsten.

"Uh… What?"

"You're good at projection, right? Analyse its structure and project it," Jo began to explain. "You've been using that stupid knife for long enough. If we're going to have any chance against Berserker's Master, you're going to need more than the Amsel Crest and a knife."

"Point taken," Torsten said, standing up and holding the scythe by his side. "But you're forgetting one thing: I have no clue how to handle a scythe. I can barely use that damn knife! Regardless, I actually have the scythe. Reinforcement is probably better than making a weaker projection of it."

"Huh. You know, I had forgotten all about that. No matter, you still have a weapon to use better than a knife."

"Uh, Earth to Josephine? Didn't you hear me say that I have no idea how to use this thing properly?" Torsten asked, exasperated. Jo said nothing and merely gestured for Lancer to stand by her side. As Lancer did as she was requested, Jo placed a hand on her Servant's shoulder.

"I think Lancer can take care of that little problem." Jo flashed a huge toothy smile as Lancer turned to her with a look of horror on her face.

"W-What? I'm supposed to teach him how to use that thing?" Lancer blurted out, her usual calmness and grace melting away in the face of her embarrassment. "I don't even use a scythe myself!"

"Now, now," Jo said, attempting to placate her Servant. "I only expect you to spar with him so he gets the hang of handling it. It'll be fun!" Torsten's jaw dropped.

"I'm not fighting Lancer! She'll kill me!" Torsten cried. Lancer's face fell and Jo gave a snort.

"Lancer wouldn't do that, would you, Lancer?" Jo joked, making a fool of the pair of them.

"I don't think this is the best idea," said Lancer, summoning Gungnir. "But I'll do what I can to help you learn the ways of combat; in a way that only a Valkyrie can." Smoothly lowering into a combat stance, Lancer prepared to charge straight at Torsten.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" falling back onto the couch behind him, Torsten raised the scythe in front of him clumsily.

"Not here, Lancer!" Jo yelled, Lancer springing back to her usual straight and tall posture and her cheeks red. "You'll destroy the whole house!"

"You're right. That was foolish of me. But do you have any other ideas of where to conduct this training?" Lancer, as the pair of Masters saw it, raised a good point.

"Ideas?" Jo asked Torsten who was still reeling from almost being attacked.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to aggravate my leg! I mean, I could get pretty badly hurt if I try to spar on it," Torsten argued, ignoring Jo's question. For her part, Jo slammed her foot down to the ground.

"We don't have the time to let you fully rest up for the training. Assassin will know that Caster and Cecile are dead now and will go out of their way to pick another target. It could be us! Not to mention Berserker could on the move right now," Jo explained. "And, the less said about that homunculus the better. The War must end swiftly so that we can deal with that thing. I'm sorry, but you simply need to be in good shape for a conflict against Masters." Torsten nodded. He knew she was right.

"Fine then." He raised himself from the couch, scythe in hand. "We can use the attic. There's still a hole in the roof, but I cleared out the place to prepare for summoning Saber. It's not much, but it will have to do."

* * *

><p>"It's certainly a possibility, eh?" Saber agreed, thinking about what he knew of the Holy Grail War. If this Xavier Roux did indeed intend to reach the Origin, the beginning and end of all things and the record of all existence, the Holy Grail War was indeed a method suspected to be able to achieve that goal. The almighty Holy Grail, said to grant any wish, could surely grant access to the Origin itself. "Dae ye think the lass has any idea?"<p>

"I'm sure she does." The priest had increased his pace, worried about taking too long to return to Torsten's apartment. It may have still been only 10:37am by his watch, but he did not want to linger in the open for too long. As far as he was concerned, the Homunculus could have easily escaped the confines of the Church and be roaming the streets of Lyon. "However, I doubt she fully agrees with his end goals. I'm sure she never mentioned her father's intentions or the fact her father urged the War go ahead because she would be ashamed of it. I've known Josephine since she was a child. She… does not have an easy relationship with her father."

Saber cocked his head, stretching in the early morning sunlight. "But how would Xavier be granted his wish of the Origin without bein' part of the War? Why send the lass?" Chevalier smirked.

"That, I do not know. Perhaps he intends to show up at the last minute, having planned for a victorious Josephine to wish for it? Perhaps he expects Josephine to simply wish the Origin reveal itself to him?" The priest raised many a question to which he had no answer. Saber couldn't help but feel even more uneasy about the current War. "Or perhaps… Perhaps we've overlooked something."

"Maybe we are…" Saber trailed off for a second, thinking. The pair rounded a corner, and the Church could be seen in the distance. "And here we are. You ready, Father?"

"Ready."

The pair accelerated to a steady jog, reaching the gates that led the Church's front courtyard. The courtyard was as Chevalier left it: deserted. Saber materialised his massive blade and the Chevalier readied two Black Keys. Slowly, the pair made their way through the courtyard. It was when they were only a few feet from the large front doors to the Church, which were currently sealed shut, that an overwhelming stench became apparent.

"Putrefaction and… blood," Chevalier said, scrunching his nose at the odour. Saber showed no signs of being put off by the small, accustomed to it from his own time and life.

"This cannae be good," breathed the Servant, moving to the large church doors and waiting for Chevalier to get ready.

"Kick it in on three?" the priest suggested. Giving a nod, Saber backed up a single step and prepared to unleash a kick on the door. Chevalier did the same for the opposite door. "One… Two… Three!"

_WHAM._

The pair kicked the heavy Church doors in, following their swinging motion into the hall of the place of prayer. As the doors rushed open, the stench blasted outwards. Its foulness and pungency would have induced nausea and sickness in lesser men than the priest and the Servant. The source of the smell was immediately apparent as the pair looked down the Church hall.

Lining the middle aisle of the Church, between the two sections of pews and spread across the floor were the visceral, partially rotten remains of what appeared to once be humans. Some were disturbingly far along in the decomposition process, flesh and muscle decaying, almost liquefied. Faces were recognisable as a part of the body, but not distinguishable from one another. Eyes had sunken into sockets or already burst and leaked into the mess around them. The contents of stomachs were layered among the rotting remains of the dead and all became one in a sickening layer of rotten flesh that had stuck fast to the floor.

"Good God…" Chevalier forced out under his breath, looking upon the horror that filled his Church. "These must be locals… How are they all so decomposed?"

"I donnae know, but it's safe to assume that if these poor souls have been killed up here, the Homunculus is loose." Saber took hesitant steps through the remains, the sickening squelch beneath his feet far more disconcerting than the almost breath stealing odour. Looking at the back wall of the Church, behind the pulpit, the Servant noticed a strange pattern scrawled across its surface. "C'mon. There's somthin' back there."

Trudging through the unavoidable mess the pair, at the very least, attempted to not disturbing corpses themselves, instead preferring to move through the fleshed that had began to peel from them. In what seemed like hours but was, in reality, minutes, Servant and priest had reached the pulpit at the design on the wall could be seen.

לִוְיָתָן

"I've never seen that language before…" Saber uttered, staring at the design on the wall that had clearly been created from the rotten entrails of the dead that lay around them. "Father?" Chevalier swallowed in astonishment.

"It's Hebrew," he answered, failing to turn to the Servant. "Its read 'Livyatan'… Meaning Leviathan. Holy mother of God…" Finally glancing to Saber, Chevalier found the Servant was staring right back at him. His face was like stone.

"We'd better check below, Father." Saber turned on the spot and moved further down the wall to the door that led to the back of the Church. Chevalier followed in silence. The door to the back area of the Church opened easily and the pair stepped into what seemed like a different world from what they had just left.

"It's… pristine…" Chevalier said, astonished at the fact the room was as clean as he had left it, save for the blood trail he had left when he had originally escaped from the Homunculus.

"What way tae the dungeon?" Saber asked, striding into the clean room. The priest noticed the trail on red he left on the floor with each step. "We donnae have much time if it's still here. It'll know we've come."

"This way." Chevalier moved deeper into the backroom, exiting it through a door at the rear and turned right. The pair soon came face to face with the entranceway to the dungeon which should have held a door. Instead, the door was lying in pieces on the ground. Carefully, the pair moved down the stairs with Saber on point. It was not long before they could see the entrance to the actual dungeon where the Homunculus was supposed to have been trapped. The iron door that was to seal it was crumpled on the floor just inside the stone room. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Saber was met with a blinding white light from the centre of the dungeon.

"Oh my God…"

* * *

><p>"Ready?" Jo asked Torsten, her words almost echoing in the relatively empty loft. Torsten replied with a rigid nod. "Then Reinforce the scythe, and have fun!" Lancer stood across the attic, ready to leap into combat with the Master of Saber. Torsten began to pour mana into the deadly weapon in his hands. Being careful not to permanently damage the weapon, he hardened its structure.<p>

"Prepare yourself!" Lancer suddenly yelled, lunging forward at Torsten. Barely being able to finish his magecraft, Torsten leapt to one side as Lancer's spear flew at his stomach.

"Holy crap! You could have killed me!" Torsten stumbled as he tried to retreat.

"You're not going to learn how to use that scythe without the proper pressure," the golden maned Servant said, twirling around on the spot, Gungnir's pointed spear head swinging around an inch away from Torsten's face. "So I'll have to apply that pressure."

"Sounds like you two have everything under control!" exclaimed Jo, standing in the doorway. "I'm going to go make lunch for the three of us, assuming Chevalier left enough ingredients from dinner last night. You guys play nice, okay?" Narrowly avoiding a thrust of Gungnir to the face, Torsten quickly looked at Jo, dumbstruck.

"You're just leaving us here?" he wailed.

"Yep. I'll come get you both a little while," Jo said turning and leaving.

"Aw shit…" Torsten moaned. "Whoa!" Lancer took another lunge and him. Taking an unsteady step to the side, Torsten barely avoided the thrust. Lancer kept up her momentum and ran past him, reaching the far end of the loft and swing around to face her opponent.

"Why haven't you used the scythe yet?" Lancer asked, loosening up her shoulders and cracking her neck. "It's why we're here, aren't we?"

"You're too fast," Torsten panted, realising he was already out of breath from trying to evade the Servant before him. His leg was starting to ache again. "I-" Before he could finish his thought, Lancer disappeared from Torsten's view. He quickly looked down to see Lancer down low, already halfway across the loft, ready to skewer him.

"No," she said quietly, rising upwards with Gungnir. It tore up the side of his face, making a thin red line from jawbone to temple that quickly began to bleed. "You're too slow." Again, Torsten stumbled back.

_I have to do… something!_ Torsten thought. Still reeling, he brought up the scythe and took an unsteady swipe at Lancer who easily ducked the attack and moved out of range.

"Good. That's some progress at least. Now, can you actually hit me?" Lancer had decided to do away with a soft demeanour.

_I can't tone my power down any more than this. I'm just going to have to force him to work harder._

Torsten almost fell sideways with the weight of the scythe swing. Retaking a steady stance and firmly grasping his new weapon with two hands, he looked Lancer dead in the eyes. "You bet."

Lancer made the first toothy smile Torsten had ever seen. "Nice answer."

* * *

><p>The source of the brilliant light within the dungeon came into view for Chevalier and Saber at the very same time as it seemed to speak.<p>

"To whom do I owe the pleasure?" said the angelic figure that stood at the centre of the light with his back to Saber and the priest. There were ragged scars on either side of his back where it looked as if there should have been extra limbs or appendages. The man spoke with a voice that echoed more than the dungeon walls would normally allow, and a voice that sounded peaceful, even inviting. He turned to face his guests. "Ah, a Servant like myself and a man of God."

"You're a Servant?" exclaimed Chevalier, raising his prepared Black Keys. Saber noticed the change in the priest demeanour, just like when the pair had fought the familiars of Assassin together. The priest's stance had tightened, his eyes had changed. There was rage within his eyes. Chevalier's next words were forced out through gritted teeth. "Who are you?" The angelic figure's eyes narrowed.

"Are ye gonna answer or not?" Saber pressured, readying his own blade. The unknown Servant's eyes quickly glanced to Saber, then back to the Chevalier. "We donnae have all day."

"I was wrong about you," the angelic figure said in his honeyed voice. He pointed at the priest accusingly, the hand he raised coated in blood. "You are no man of God I know. You are a slave to the Templars. I know those eyes, that face, that stance; a dog that would seek to manipulate the Church to your own ends." Chevalier scowled. He made a face at Saber, indicating he would explain later.

"Ye havenae answered his question: Who are you?" Saber asked, gripping his blade tighter.

"I am Saviour," the angelic Servant crowed. "And…" Saviour trailed off, his eyes appearing unfocused.

"And what?" Chevalier growled. Saviour's eyes refocused on the priest.

"And I have no time to waste on wastrels such as you. My Master is in need of my presence." The angelic Servant straightened himself and looked to the ceiling. Saber and Chevalier followed his gaze and saw that Saviour stood under a gaping hole that led to the surface.

"You're no' getting away!" roared Saber, lunging at Saviour as he dissolved into a shining gold mist that rocketed out of the dungeon with great force, creating an almighty roar. The Scottish Servant's sword hit nothing but air as he brought it down, breaking the hard stone of the floor as it collided with it. "Shit."

"That wasn't him…" Chevalier groaned, back to his usual self. "That was not the homunculus!"

"Then jes' what the hell was it?" exclaimed Saber. Chevalier stayed silent and thought for a while.

"He said he was a Servant: 'Saviour'. I've never heard of that before." The priest looked around the dungeon. It was empty, save for Saber and he. "Wait, what's that?" Chevalier noticed more scrawling symbols on the back wall of the dungeon that had been obscured by the figure of Saviour. The priest moved closer to read it with Saber following him.

"What does it say?" asked Saber.

אפוקליפסה

"It's means…" Chevalier began, pausing for second. "'Apocalypse'."

* * *

><p>It was hard for Torsten to tell just how much time had passed since beginning his fight with Lancer. Exhaustion, in combination with his injured leg becoming more and more painful by the minute, destroyed any perception of time he could have mustered during the battle. Barely able to stand, he used the scythe to hold himself up.<p>

_My legs… They won't move any more… But I have one last chance…_

"It seems like you're finally out of energy." Lancer was decidedly unaffected from the sparring session, still brimming with untold vigour. She had deliberately tried to slow herself down in order to allow the injured young Master to stand a chance, but he had been unable to land a single blow. He had, however, avoided any further injuries since the first cut to his face. "You've done well, considering the state of your leg."

"I can keep going…" Torsten managed through ragged breaths and winces of pain. Taking a hand from the scythe, he wiped at the blood that poured from the cut to his face. The wound itself was not deep, but the blood that had flowed from it had begun to harden and itch on his face. "Once more…"

"Are you sure? You've already managed to use that scythe far more effectively than when we began," Lancer said. "You are most certainly far more balanced, and can swing it without risk of injury." Torsten did not answer.

"Very well." Lancer charged forward, Torsten stepping back as she closed in on him. Sidestepping, the golden haired Servant attempted to flank the young Master.

_Now…_ Flashed through Torsten's mind.

Making a wild horizontal swing, Torsten forced Lancer to stop and duck. As the scythe passed over the Servant, Torsten released a single hand from it and brought it high above his head. Using the last ounce of strength he had left to spare, Torsten swung his arm down while simultaneously projecting a second scythe. Lancer's eyes widened as she saw the second deadly weapon bearing down upon her. Rolling backwards, she avoided the attack and the scythe stuck hard into the wood flooring of the loft.

"Ugh… Shit…" groaned Torsten as he collapsed to his knees, releasing the projected scythe as it dissolved into the nothingness from which is came then dropping the real scythe with a loud clatter.

"What the hell was that?" A voice suddenly resounded from the doorway to the loft. Lancer and Torsten turned to see Jo staring in amazement at the spectacle she just witnessed. "That was great, Torsten!"

"Well, it didn't work, so I don't see how you came to that conclusion." Torsten remained on his knees, further slumping down out of exhaustion and pain. Lancer stood from her crouched position and knelt before her sparring partner. She held out a hand, in which she held a single golden strand of hair from her own hair.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," she said with a smile, Torsten taking the hair from Lancer in disbelief. "I'd argue that counts as a hit. Wouldn't you?" Lancer directed her question to Jo.

"That I would," concurred Jo. Torsten's eyes lit up.

"You're lucky I was only fighting at less than half of my normal speed," Lancer said in a cheeky tone of voice. Torsten hung his head.

"Gee, way to tear a guy down," he joked.

"Well, come on you two. I made us lunch." Jo turned around and left the loft with Lancer standing to follow. Noticing Torsten remaining on the floor, she stopped herself.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Uh…" Torsten said, wobbling from side to side where he knelt. "I don't think I can walk." He beamed the biggest smile he could muster.

"Oh," Lancer said simply, kneeling back beside the young Master and offering him a shoulder which he gladly accepted. "Three, two, one, up!"

"Thanks, Lancer."

"I want you to promise me something," the Valkyrie said suddenly. Before helping Torsten move forward, she turned her head to face his. Her brilliant blue eyes were speckled with fine points of silver, Torsten now noticed.

"Promise you something? Promise what?"

"I want you to promise me that if something should ever happen to me, that if I cannot perform my duties as a Servant, that you will protect Josephine with your life in my place." Lancer's gazing was piercing and analytical. She studied Torsten's face for hesitation.

"I…" Torsten began before he paused to think through what he had been asked to do.

"If you really do love her, you can do it. She would do the same for you," Lancer continued. "Please."

"She would as well…" Torsten softly chuckled. "You know, she does way too much for me. I'm probably not worth the effort. And you know? I never thought about loving her. Well, in that way anyway. But I guess I never needed to think about it."

"It sounds like you have it all worked out." Lancer began to help Torsten to the doorway. "When I first met you, I thought you were spineless despite Josephine's attachment to you; a weakling that would drag my Master down." Torsten gulped in spite of himself.

"But you know? I've never been so glad to be proven wrong." Lancer gave Torsten a small smile. He decided Lancer deserved an answer to her request.

"It's a promise, Lancer. I promise I'll keep Jo safe." Lancer turned her attention towards the stairs as they began a slow but steady descent.

"Thank you, Torsten."

* * *

><p>"They were all… dead?" Jo said in a quiet voice. It was around 12:30pm by the time Saber and Chevalier had returned, finding Torsten dead asleep on the couch while Lancer and Jo talked. Having just finished their description of the state of the Church, the pair sat in silence in the living room, Chevalier and Saber with Torsten on the couch, Jo and Lancer in their usual spots, to let Torsten and Jo take it in. Chevalier nodded solemnly in reply.<p>

"And… The thing you met wasn't the homunculus?" Torsten asked.

"No. No it wasn't. Like I said, it was a Servant that called itself 'Saviour'." Chevalier gripped his hands tightly together, his knuckles turning white. "I've never heard of such a thing. It has to be the homunculus's doing. Do either of you know of a 'Saviour' class Servant?"

"No, it's complete aberration," Jo proclaimed matter-of-factly. "The Servant was either lying, or the homunculus has managed to abuse its position as the catalyst of the Holy Grail and has summoned some form of alternative Servant that should not exist."

"So what dae we dae?" Saber asked. "Things have gotten a lot more complicated now. The homunculus is gone, it seems tae have summoned its own Servant and, judgin' by the scrawling on the walls of the Church, it really thinks its Leviathan and wants tae bring aboot the End o' Days."

"Warning the other Masters won't work, like we've already talked about." Torsten mulled over options out loud. "It's almost like the best scenario would be the homunculus targeting the others at this point."

"I say we stay the course until the other Masters know about the situation or we're forced into a conflict with it," Jo proposed. "The only Master I could see listening to reason would be the Master of Assassin. Berserker's Master does not seem like the type that would ally with us even if he knew we were telling the truth."

"But Leviathan could be out there killing people right now!" Torsten exclaimed. "Can't we do anything at all?"

"We could go after it if we have to," Jo said. "But we have no idea what it's capable of. We need a proper plan to deal with it. I want to go after it too, but we can't rush blindly after it right away." Torsten nodded.

"I know that. Isn't that a good reason to start planning to take that thing down then?" urged Torsten. "If we're going after the other Masters, we may find it anyway. We'll need to be ready when we do."

"Indeed," Chevalier agreed. "Chances are its more powerful than when I left it if it could summon its own Servant. The mana from dead Servants flows straight into the homunculus that acts as the Grail, remember. For all we know, it could have powers beyond any of us, including Saber and Lancer." Lancer perked up at the suggestion of the priest.

"I wouldn't be that quick to assume it has a power any more than a normal Magus. The homunculus shouldn't be able to utilise the mana that goes towards the summoning of the Holy Grail," argues Lancer.

"But a homunculus that was supposed to be completely soulless and docile shouldn't have suddenly come to life and almost killed me either." The priest was frustrated at his own inability to control the situation.

"Okay, hauld on everyone," Saber interjected, holding out his arms like stop signs. "This is goin' nowhere already. For the time being we should just handle what we come across while we're out and about. We cannae go hunting Servants, Masters or homunculi with Torsten injured as he is anyway."

"You're right. I can't really do much but hinder everyone at the moment." Torsten looked at his leg. He had checked under the bandages after eating lunch to find, much to his relief, that his wound was still closed if a little extra swollen from too much activity. "Maybe training wasn't the best idea?"

"Trainin'? What trainin'?" Saber asked. Torsten looked at Lancer and Jo accusingly. "What the hell were ye doing with my Master, you two?" Jo giggled and Lancer stepped forward.

"My Master thought it was in his best interests to prepare himself for combat with Berserker's Master. I took it upon myself to spar with him in your absence." Lancer explained the situation as if it were something normal to do. "He is now, at the very least, experienced in handling a scythe. How well he handles it, is another matter."

"Ye used that scythe tae fight her?" Saber asked Torsten who replied with an innocent smile. Saber made one of his signature cheeky grins. "You get a hit in, lad?"

"Kind of? I took cut a single strand of hair off her head…" Torsten said. The room went silent for second before Saber burst into a roaring laughter, clutching at his sides. "What the hell is up with you? Jo said it counted as a hit!" Chevalier started to chuckle, then Jo descended into giggles.

"I think you did well," Lancer said quietly in the middle of the cacophonic laughter that was bouncing around the room. Torsten mouthed a small 'thank you' while waiting for the rest of the room to quieten down.

"Real mature guys, really." Torsten crossed his arms as if in a huff.

"Och, I was only jokin'. Frankly, you're lucky she didnae kill ya!" Saber exclaimed. He turned his attention to Jo who was still trying to calm herself down. "Nice thinkin', lass. He could have come out a cripple afterwards, but ye got lucky this time!"

"I doubt it had much to do with luck," Chevalier added. "Torsten is a reliable guy when it comes down to it. Even if you do have to threaten him with the thought of death." Torsten shot the priest a look and before he could shoot back a jab of his own, Saber snapped his fingers.

"That's right! What's this about you been' a Templar?" Saber blurted out, remembering the words of Saviour in the Church dungeon. "Not of the Church are we, Father?" Chevalier gave a grim smile.

"I didn't expect that little fact, of all things, to come to light during the War." The Priest sighed and placed a hand to his face.

"What's this?" Jo said, almost jumping out her seat. "You're from the Order of Templars?"

"What's the Order of Templars?" Torsten asked.

"Yes, I am a Templar. And, Torsten, the Order of Templars is an organisation that sometimes cooperates with the Church, exactly like I am doing right now. We aren't always on the friendly side of the Church, however," Chevalier explained.

"I can't believe you're of the Order!" Jo exclaimed. "No wonder you're such a good Executor. The Templars excel at the hunting and disposal of heretics. They breed killing machines." The priest gave Jo a nervous smile, unnerved by her enthusiasm.

"How did ye get a gig like the Holy Grail War if you're not a real member of the Church then?" Saber asked.

"I'm on loan from the Order to aid the Church as a member of the Executors. In recent years or relationship has strengthened to the point where we can work together. As such, as a symbol of good will from the Church to the Order, I was given the honour of presiding over the Grail War," Chevalier explained, sounding exasperated. "And now look what has happened: the War has gone completely awry under my watch."

"No wonder you didn't want to contact the Church before," Torsten said. "But you must have been a member of the Church since Jo and I were children, considering that is how we met you." The priest nodded.

"Indeed. By recent years of a cordial relationship, I meant roughly fifteen years. You have to remember that I'm an old man of forty two! I have been with the Order since I was a boy and an ambassador of the Order to the Church since I was only twenty." The priest smiled, thinking about the past. "None of you have to worry about me or my allegiances. I volunteered to work with the Church to help bring all three our organisations together. Unfortunately I don't think this Holy Grail War is going to help with that goal."

"Sadly, unless we can stop the homunculus, I think you're right," Jo said glumly. Then, as if flipping a switch, she clapped her hands together and brightened up. "I think we've talked enough for now. The lot of you are exhausted, be it mentally or physically. I think you should take a while to rest. Lancer and I can spar for a while to make sure I don't fall behind." Jo gave a wink to Torsten.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Torsten immediately blurted, slumping into the couch. "If I'm ever going to walk again I think I need some sleep at least."

"I'll go and make myself something to eat then, shall I?" Chevalier said, rising from the couch and leaving for the kitchen.

"I think I'll join in that nap there, lad," Saber said, emulating his Master and collapsing into the couch.

"Shall we get started right away then, Master?" Lancer suggested. Jo leapt from her seat and made her way to the stairs, Lancer in tow.

"You bet," Jo said with a sly smile on her face.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter, another milestone! Over 100k words! ^^

As usual, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.

Tune in next time, folks! Some serious shit is going to go down!


	22. Argent et le Pouvoir : Part 1

Chapter 22  
>Argent et le Pouvoir : Piège<p>

It was late at night, roughly 11pm, when Torsten and Jo had adjourned to bed. Torsten had spent less time napping than he would have liked, Saber's snoring proving unconducive to a good sleep. Jo, on the other hand, had spent hours with Lancer in the loft, sparring and exercising. Much to Torsten's chagrin, she hadn't allowed him to watch.

"How did he die, Torsten?" Jo suddenly asked as the pair of young Masters lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Torsten, part way along the path to sleep took a few moments to float back into awareness. He turned to face her.

"You mean, my father?" Jo turned to Torsten and gave a small nod. "You mean you don't know?" She shook her head.

"I didn't have much contact with anyone at home when I was in the United States. Not even my own father. He didn't even do me the courtesy of informing me that Richter had passed away until I came back home." The anger in Jo's voice was not hidden well.

"Well, it was all rather sudden, if you must know," Torsten began to explain. "He had been away for while. He refused to tell me where, and I don't know if my mother knew or knows to this day. When he came back home he was fine for a time. He was his usual self for three days, if a little lethargic and perhaps a bit distant." Torsten turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

"It was after those three days when I found him in his study, unconscious. There was thick, almost black, blood leaking from his mouth." Torsten placed his hand to his face, tracing the line of blood he remembered from his father on himself. Jo raised a hand to his face as he continued to explain, caressing his cheek. "We called in a doctor, not that he could help. He said something about similar symptoms to Tuberculosis, but that it far worse and simply something he had never seen. He also told us that it was too late to help him. His lungs were ragged and rotten. His liver was also beginning to simply succumb and atrophy. He was dead only two days after he collapsed in his study." Jo was teary eyed by the time Torsten had finished his sad reverie.

"You mean, they have no idea how he died?" she asked. Torsten shook his head.

"To this day, no one seemed to care how he died. Most were more preoccupied with how to deal with the fact that Richter Amsel's heir was a complete failure as a Magus." Torsten turned back to Jo. His eyes were cold. "His heir was not even seen fit enough to know he had the full Thaumaturgical Crest of the Amsel family already."

"Oh, Torsten," Jo said, rolling over and wrapping her arms around his neck. He returned the gesture.

"It's alright," Torsten said, clearing his throat. "My mother stood by me, even if it hurt her standing to do so. I also got the privilege of hearing my father's last words. He wouldn't tell me what happened to him, or why he was dying, but I knew that he knew why. This was no mystery to him. Instead, he made me promise to enter the Holy Grail War." He gave Jo a sad smile.

"There has to be a reason," Jo insisted, hugging Torsten closer. "I said it before, but this was not a punishment. He would have known you had the entire Crest and that you could survive this War. Maybe he knew this War was going to go wrong. Maybe he wanted to make sure someone who could do something about it was here."

"Then why didn't he just tell me that? Why would he hide the fact I have the Crest? Why would he want me, of all people, to be the one to compete in a War that he knew would fall out of control?" Torsten's questions had answers, but none that Jo knew. Instead, she gave Torsten a short but passionate kiss.

"I don't know, Torsten. But if -when- we get through this War, we'll find out."

* * *

><p>"So you're sure you can track them?" James Cobb asked as he poured himself another Scotch. It was his third within an hour.<p>

"Yes," the Soldier said, standing at attention before his employer's Master. "The real trouble is forming a strategy to engage that chariot. If Berserker is indeed Boudica, her Chariot Master Noble Phantasm is nigh unstoppable. I have no tools at my disposal that could destroy it. Very few Servants do, as a matter of fact."

"I see." Cobb sipped the whiskey he just poured, savouring the taste as he pondered their situation. "Assassin, what do you think? An assault using the lesser familiars may work." Assassin, who sat once again on his Master's laptop analysing the stock market and playing games with investors, scoffed at his Master's suggestion.

"I know Berserker's powers well and that would be a complete waste of effort," the Servant stated bluntly. Cobb gave him a burning stare, which Assassin literally shrugged off. "You know I know everything about the Masters I met, which was all of them. What we need is, for once, subtlety."

"Fine then, Assassin. What do you suggest we do then?" Cobb slammed back the rest of his whiskey in frustration and banged the glass down hard on the table before him. He hated the very idea of wasting good alcohol by doing something as foolish as chugging it, but it distracted him from the urge to beat in his own Servant's face.

"I assume you have more of those wonderful explosive charges?" Assassin asked, directing his question at the Soldier who still stood attention.

"Of course. I have as much as we will need for any occasion," the Soldier replied. "Ah, that might just work…" The Soldier quickly became aware of what Assassin was planning.

"It will work. You'll see to it that it will." Assassin closed the laptop and reclined on the couch.

Cobb was almost livid. "What are you talking about?"

"It's rather simply really: if we cannot destroy or crash the chariot, we take away the incentive to use it," divulged Assassin, taking the empty glass that Cobb had finished, refilling it and taking a sip.

"In other words," the Soldier said, sensing his employer's Master's frustrations at the needless theatrics and vagueness. "We turn their advantage into a weakness."

* * *

><p>"I'm gonna dae it," Saber whispered at the top of the stairs. Chevalier was a few steps behind, trying to stay as quiet as possible.<p>

"I told you, if you do she'll kill you!" the priest urged, trying his best to shout in a whisper.

"Och, dinnae be daft. I'm not afraid of the lass," Saber said, dismissing Chevalier's warning. It was then that Lancer materialised in front of the large Scottish Servant, blocking his path to Torsten's bedroom.

"Well, you should be afraid of me," she hissed, hands on hips and taking long strides right up to Saber until their faces were mere centimetres apart. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Not you too," Saber moaned. "Neither of ye know how tae have any fun!"

"And you don't know when to quit!" Lancer shot back. "Who knows what they are… doing in there…" Lancer trailed off slowly in her retort.

"Nothin', I bet," Saber said trying to sidestep Lancer and having his movements mirrored. "In any case, the lad needs tae get up and train. I ain't waitin' for his sorry arse to move it when I have a busy day planned for him."

Lancer narrowed her eyes. "And what of my Master?" Saber shrugged innocently.

"A casualty of war?" The Scottish Servant said with the toothiest grin he could muster.

"So you're not going to back down?" Lancer tried to apply some final ounce of pressure. She was not going to resort to violence, but she hoped Saber was not beyond reasoning with. The Scottish Servant put a hand to his chin and stroked his untidy beard.

"Nah, donnae think so!" he roared at full volume, stepping to the other side of Lancer and barging past. She offered no resistance. Chevalier covered his face with both palms.

Saber strode over to the bedroom door and slammed it open with enough force to dent the wall where the door handle swung into it. "Rise and shine, lads and lasses! Up, up, up! Busy day for both o' ye ahead!"

Torsten shot up in bed, Jo still clinging to his neck from the night before, being dragged up with him. Like the night before, Jo had worn nothing but underwear to bed, and jumping up from shock, Torsten had removed the coverage that the bed quilt had provided.

"What the hell is going on?" Torsten yelled, rubbing at his eyes and scrambling to get out of bed, under the impression there is was an emergency. Jo let go and clutched at her chest, feeling her heart pounding out of shock.

"Yeah, wha-" Jo began to mumble until she released the hand on her chest was clutching at nothing but bare flesh. Within a single second, her face went bright red.

"Saber, get out!" Torsten screamed, sensing extreme danger unlike he had ever sensed before. "For your own good!"

"Yeah, yeah, get your arses out of bed!" Saber continued, oblivious. The Servant walked around to the end of the bed.

"… out," Jo mumbled, barely audible.

_Oh shit…_ Torsten thought.

"Whit was that?" The Scottish Servant leaned in over the bed feigning the inability to hear properly.

"Get out!" Jo screamed at the top her lungs, pulling up the quilt around her to cover up. "Get out, get out, get out!" She threw her pillow straight at Saber's head, her aim true.

"Oof." Saber, surprised by the attack, recoiled backwards as Torsten leapt out of bed.

"You've done it this time!" Torsten moved around to Saber and proceed to push him towards the bedroom door.

Jo unleashed another pillow salvo, scoring another direct hit to Saber's head. "GET OUT!"

"Ow, shit!" Saber was finally forced to the door and pushed through it, Torsten following and slamming it shut behind them before slumping to the ground. Saber let out a hearty laugh, sitting down with his Master.

"That was the dumbest fucking thing you have ever done!" Torsten said, his heart still racing.

"I told him as much."

Torsten looked up to find Lancer standing before him with her hands on her hips. Between her stance and blue eyes, she could have passed for an older Josephine Roux, simply with dyed hair.

"I didnae think she'd go completely mental on me," Saber said, his sides hurting from laughing. "She's the one wi' the problem! You watch yerself, Lancer." The golden maned Servant raised an eyebrow at the joke.

_And now he's pissing off Lancer…_ Torsten groaned within his mind.

"I'd suggest keeping out of her way for the rest of the day, Saber," Lancer said, turning on the spot and heading for the stairs. As she placed a single armoured foot onto the top step, she paused and turned back to the Master and Servant that where slumped against the floor. "And Torsten?"

"Yeah?"

"You may want to go put some clothes on." Lancer proceeded down the stairs while Saber burst into laughter again.

"You're in there, lad." The large Servant smacked his Master across the back, almost toppling him over.

"Ha ha, very funny," said Torsten dryly, standing. He turned and put a hand on his bedroom door, but stopped short of opening. "Lancer's right though. I'm going back in there and I don't think she'll be happy to see you still up here." Torsten looked at the stairs then back a Saber in such a way for Saber to actually see the motion.

"Aye, aye, whatever." Saber stood and headed for the stairs. Without turning around, he called to Torsten. "Get your kit on fast, eh? Long day ahead o' of ya, lad."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Torsten opened the bedroom door when he was sure that Saber was already at the bottom of the stairs. Much to his to his surprise, he received a pillow straight to the face.

"I said get ou-… Oh, it's you." Jo was in a precarious position, obviously having thrown the pillow just as she was trying to pull up her skirt, leaving it halfway up her thighs. She was still without a shirt, Torsten noticed.

"You know, you're a good shot with those things," Torsten said with a smirk, grabbing a random shirt from the floor and inspecting his cupboard for a suitable pair of jeans. "I'm going to need to actually start washing all these clothes."

"Agreed," Jo mumbled. She inspected the floor for a suitable shirt. There was a moment of silence that was only filled by the rustling of fabrics.

"Sorry about all that," Torsten suddenly apologised. "He's a goofball, to say the least. You're not really pissed at him, are you?" Jo exhaled her tension away and shot him a smile.

"No, I'm not. He didn't mean any harm by it. Doesn't make him any less of an idiot though," she said, finding a plain red shirt to her liking. "I'm going to need to take a trip to my place today. I need some fresh clothes. In fact, I may as well go now with Lancer since I'm up."

"You want me to come with?"

"No, it sounds as if Saber has a day planned for you." Jo buttoned up the red shirt. It was ill fitting, being too large, but it would do until she could reach her estate and acquire some proper garments. She gave Torsten a quick peck on the cheek before heading to the door. "Enjoy." Jo had a smile that Torsten couldn't help but think looked mildly evil.

"You don't think he's going to kick my arse or anything, do you?" Torsten got himself dressed quickly, remembering Saber's urgency earlier. "I don't think I could take that again."

"Chances are you're in for a bit of a ride."

* * *

><p>"I can't even eat breakfast?" Torsten groaned, his stomach feeling similar to what he imagined a black hole may feel like. His lack of energy made the scythe in his hands feel extra heavy. Saber shook his head, dragging the tip of his blade across the attic floor lightly as if to prove it's deadliness as it made a fine line in the wooden floorboards.<p>

"Not even breakfast, lad," the Servant confirmed. "I heard ye kicked some serious Lancer arse yesterday. I want tae see it for meself. But…" He raised his massive blade in two hands.

"But what?" Torsten gulped. His empty stomach was no longer the most important thing on his mind at that point. He reinforced the scythe in his hands, his weak enchantment from yesterday having worn off thanks to lack of skill.

"I think you'll find me a crueller master than Lancer." Saber took a large step forward, swiping in a wide horizontal arc. Torsten took a step back onto his injured leg. A twinge of pain shot up his thigh, though it was less than he had been forced to endure yesterday. Following through, Saber swept his blade up above his head and brought it down where Torsten now stood.

Rolling to the side, the magus avoided the blow. Saber's sword collided with the floor with enough force to disintegrate the floorboards.

"Hey! I have to live here!" Torsten yelled as he made a loose swipe at Saber. The Servant easily moved out of the way, allowing the scythe to fall by his side and the tip of it to sink into the floor. Grinning at the opening, Saber kicked at the shaft of the scythe, causing it to shake. Torsten lost his grip on the deadly weapon and suddenly found himself unarmed with Saber preparing for another blow. "No fair!"

"Dae ye think the other Masters are gonna' play fair?" The Servant unleashed another attack. Torsten couldn't move out the way fast enough, receiving the tip of the sword on his left arm. It was a light cut, but it shook the magus to the core. "You're going tae have tae move faster than that if ye want tae survive this!" For the next ten minutes straight, Torsten ducked, dodged and avoided multiple blows from Saber, slowly beginning to succumb to fatigue.

"Is that…" Torsten panted. "All you got?" The magus attempted the most confident smile he could. Saber suddenly seemed cold.

"You're no fighting back. Why?" Saber asked, starting to circle his Master. Torsten moved with his Servant, the pair walking around in a menacing circle.

"So you want me to hit you?" Torsten's cocky reply didn't satisfy Saber who took a lightning fast lunge at his Master.

"This kind o' cocky shite isn't like you," Saber said as Torsten barely avoided being gutted. The magus rolled out of the way, deliberately far out of Saber's range. "Donnae tell me ye've gone soft and are tryin' tae cover it up?"

Torsten straightened himself and gave a cheeky shrug. "Maybe?"

Refraining from playing what he considered silly games, Saber made for a massive overhead sword strike. Leaping forward, the Servant swept his blade as far back as he could without it touching the ground behind him, his arm muscles tightening. As Saber reached striking distance, he let loose all the energy stored in his arms like a compressed spring being explosively uncoiled. It was then he notice Torsten had not even attempted to dodge.

Before Saber could yell at in horror at what he was about to do to his own Master, Torsten raised his right arm in front of himself as if to catch the blade. The magi's arm shone a brilliant red, his Thaumaturgical Crest activating as he clenched his fist, before the sword struck.

"Wha-" Saber's bladed slowed as if it were being dragged through molasses. As Torsten expected, he couldn't do much to a Servant but slow them, however it gave him time project a scythe in his already swinging left arm. In retaliation, Saber forced his sword down even harder, pushing out of the grip of Räumlich Einsturz. Torsten had to lean back as the large Scottish sword swept downwards past his face, millimetres from his nose, before it slammed into the loft floor.

"Fuck!" swore Torsten as the force of Saber's blow obliterated the floor he stood on, toppling him backwards and sending his projected scythe far too high; high enough for Saber to not even need to attempt dodging. Landing hard on his back, Torsten scrambled backwards from his Servant in case he continued his assault.

Saber shook his head as he righted himself, slamming his sword into the floor so it stood by itself and approaching Torsten. The magus scrambled to his feet just in time for Saber to grasp him hard by the shoulders.

"What in the hell was that, lad?" Saber asked, his eyes shining. The Servant's strange excitement was more than a little unsettling to his Master.

"Uh… A shitty idea to use on a Servant? You almost cut me clean in half!" Torsten thought about what he had tried and, if Saber wasn't holding his arms down by his sides, would have probably slapped himself in the face.

"Well, that's true," Saber admitted with a grin. "But that was one hell of an idea there, lad! Against any normal human that would hae completely stopped their weapon, if not completely destroyed it!" He gave his Master a shake as if to wake him up to what he was saying.

"You can't be serious…"

"Hey, you're the one who just tried it on me. Not tae mention you're right: I couldae killed ye like that." Saber released Torsten a clicked his fingers in front of his face. "But I'm too fond of ye tae dae that."

"Well that's a relief, isn't it?" Torsten shot back, much to his Servant's delight.

"It seem ye've finally manned up." Saber turned and walked back to wear he had left his sword and withdrew it from the floor with a single smooth motion. "Let's see how far that'll get you." Torsten stretched for a second, arcing his back and extending his arms before retrieving the scythe he had been separated from.

"Sounds like fun."

* * *

><p>"It feels so good to be back home!" As Jo swung open the doors to the Roux estate in Lyon, she couldn't help but feel relieved by the familiarity of her own home. Being one of the many estates in France that the Roux family owned and used, Jo had lived in the mansion before. It was one her favourites and a place she planned to use as a retreat when she returned from the United States.<p>

"I can imagine, Master," spoke Lancer as she followed her Master over the threshold. Lancer had forgotten how grand a home it was. The large room they had entered into was enshrouded by dark wood from all sides, the floor, ceiling and walls being delicate constructed from the material. Immediately before the pair lay a wide staircase, in front of which Jo stopped to breath in the familiar scent of home. "I advise we not dawdle. If we're working in a team with Torsten and Saber we should ensure we stay together for as much time as possible. Otherwise, we lose our advantage."

"You have a point." Jo began to ascend the staircase, specifically heading for the upstairs bedroom. Her first task would be to gather some clothes, considering she had a dire need to change out of what she was wearing now. "But I might sneak in a proper shower before we go."

"As you wish." Lancer followed her Master obediently up the stairs.

Jo's room was at the far end of a hallway, to the left of the top of the stairs. Compared to the furnishings of the rest of the house, which were antiquated and very much pieces of history, Jo's room was simple, as she liked it. A single bed with white sheets and a wool quilt sat in the middle of the room, with small desk that was covered with numerous magical texts and historical documents placed below a window.

"I never did clean up either here or the study, did I?" Jo approached a wall closet, Lancer remaining at the doorway. "There should be a suitcase in here too…"

"Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Lancer, preferring not to just stand and wait.

"You can tidy up the desk there if you want. Just make everything alphabetical and I'll sort it in more detail myself later." Lancer nodded and did as she was asked.

Jo quickly found an adequate case and threw it onto the bed with loud thump. It was then that Lancer noticed, as she was sorting through various French and German history books, that her Master was humming along as she selected herself some clothes. Keeping an eye on her Master as she sorted the books into alphabetical piles, Lancer realised this was the happiest she had ever seen Jo. Their time spent together before acting as a team with Torsten and Saber, while short, gave Lancer the impression Josephine Roux was like many other Magi: cold like ice and with faces of stone. Not that she was unkind, but that she seemed to have herself under an iron-like grip that would stop her from becoming attached to anything that may distract her.

_It seems all of it was a façade. Not just her treatment of Torsten, but everything._ Feeling uncharacteristically intrigued, Lancer felt she had to know more.

"May I ask you a question, Master?" Lancer inquired. Jo could only groan.

"I've told you, Lancer! You can ask me anything you wish!"

"Well, I'm wondering exactly what has you so jubilant today. I don't think I've seen you this happy before." It wasn't a question, but Lancer had felt she asked one.

Jo gave a small chuckle. "You know, I don't quite know myself. I guess I don't feel so alone anymore." Lancer stopped her work and cocked her head at the puzzling answer.

"You felt… alone?" Lancer looked at her Master as she asked her question. Jo replied with a small nod, but kept silent. "I don't mean to pry, but why would you feel alone? Do you not have a family? I realise you were separated from them for a long time, but surely they stay by your side?"

Jo was folding one her skirts into the suitcase when she had to stop to answer, gently resting the skirt on the edge of the case. "My family is a Magi family. Surely you know how Magi are? They are typically detached people. They are because they have to be. But sometimes, that detachment they must develop starts to creep into their relationships with people and deadens them to the world." Lancer held Jo's gaze, remaining silent.

"My father, Xavier, is not a kind man. My mother… My mother, Aurore, was broken by him long ago; probably before they married even." She smirked. "Listen to me ramble on like an idiot. I'm probably just boring you."

Lancer shook her head. "No, not at all. It sounds like you need to talk. Does Torsten know? About all this, I mean."

"Hah, 'does Torsten know'." Repeating her Servant's words, Jo scoffed at the very idea. "No, he doesn't. I don't even think my father has once talked to him for more than two minutes at a time. The fact we know each other is a magi political experiment in the first place, between our two fathers."

"Well, I'd say it worked, wouldn't you?" Lancer proposed, attempting to keep the conversation on a light-hearted note.

Again, Jo scoffed. "I suppose so. The families aren't at each other's throats, at the very least." She stopped packing the case and sat on the bed, her back to Lancer. "It's funny. If you asked Torsten who benefitted more from us meeting, I'm sure he would say it was him. He has no idea how wrong he is."

Lancer kept her silence, but moved across the room to sit by her Master's side. Jo continued talking, finding it hard to stop that now she had started. "I lived a sheltered life before he came along. I had few acquaintances and even fewer friends. I was even home schooled to allow maximum concentration on magecraft. Between my distant mother and father and the lack of any connection with people my own age, I think it's safe to stay I was going to become a 'real' magus if it weren't for the fact I desperately wanted that connection I was without."

"Then Torsten comes along." The memories elicited a soft laugh that was tinged with melancholy from Jo. "He was like me in many ways. He seemed lonely, but I think that was more his own lack of self-confidence and pressure from extended family thanks to his less than stellar ability as a magus."

"Was he really that bad?" asked Lancer.

Jo nodded. "He was pretty abysmal, yeah. I tried to help him a few times, but he never wanted my help. At the time I thought he was just stubborn, but he was just embarrassed." She sighed. "He was able to move on without my help with his magecraft. Just being with me seemed to be enough. Me? I needed his friendship to survive. Desperately, I would try and be with him whenever my father would allow it. Torsten's father was more than willing to let us enjoy our time together whenever we liked."

"Then what did you do when you went to the United States? That couldn't have been easy on either of you." Lancer spoke solemnly, already fearing she had dug too much into her Master's past.

"I became what my father would have wanted. After seeing Torsten for the last time, I decided it was best if I just become a Magus." Jo looked at her feet. "If I disconnected from what I had left behind, I thought I could make it when I left. While I did survive, I almost destroyed what we used to have, Torsten and I, when I returned."

"And look how that worked out!" Lancer joked, softly laughing to herself. It was contagious, instigating a giggle from Jo. "I think you make a good pair, Master." She said, standing from the bed to return to the mess on the desk. "Your confidence has started to rub off on him. The same can be said about Saber's."

"It's about damn time he grew a spine." Jo threw herself off the bed. "I'm still worried about what will happen when we have to confront Berserker's Master." She returned to folding the skirt and placed it neatly in the suitcase before returning to the closet to look for more. "I don't know if he's moved past Cecile. He says so, but I just don't know if he's trying to act tough or he's telling the truth."

"Don't worry about him," Lancer stated with finality, remembering the promise that Torsten had made with her. "He'll be ready for the fight to come. For now, focus on how well you will fare against that man. The pair of you will most certainly have to work as a team to take him down."

Jo poked her head out of the closet with a grin on her face. "Are you saying I can't take him by myself?"

"My Master is not so infallible that she cannot be beaten," Lancer stated. "But I imply nothing."

Jo pouted. "Well, you're no fun."

"Someone has to keep a level head. Considering Saber and Torsten are too far gone, it may as well be me," joked the golden haired Servant.

* * *

><p>It was late at night, past 10pm, when the Soldier of Fortune could start setting up the explosive charges down the street. The long lines of Semtex that spanned the street's width would be enough to create suitable divots into the road. Utilising his skills as swiftly as possible, the entire network of explosives were assembled within thirty minutes, numbering at least twenty lines of Semtex down the length of the block.<p>

He took his radio from his belt and brought it to his mouth. "Trap set, over."

"Excellent work. Make your way back and wait for confirmation on target's ensnarement, over." Double checking each line of Semtex and ensuring the wireless receivers were set up correctly, the Soldier proceeded down the street to the post he had set up on the top corner of a building that led into the block that had been booby trapped. Both his employer and Master would be waiting there.

The street itself was lined by office buildings, their facades made of glass, which contrasted with much of the more traditional architecture of the old city of Lyon. However, it was a narrow street and both Berserker and her Master were in close proximity to the area.

"What is the target's status, over?" asked the Soldier as he entered the front doors of the office building he had broken into. As he entered an elevator, he received a reply from the radio.

"The familiars have the pair on the run in this direction. It's only a matter of time before they use the Chariot, over."

As the elevator reached the top floor, his radio crackled to life once more.

"The Chariot has been utilised, I repeat, the Chariot has been utilised. When you reach the roof, we'll move out, over."

The Soldier grimaced.

_So it has begun._

* * *

><p>"These pathetic little soldiers are no match for us, my Queen!" roared Kinjo. He stood at his Servant's side within her mighty Chariot, rocketing down the streets of Lyon. They were being tailed by a pair of stolen cars, both standard sedans, a Suit at the wheel of each and SWAT style familiars belonging to Assassin leaning out each window firing at their quarry with submachine guns.<p>

They had been ambushed on foot by many of the SWAT familiars, dispatching them easily if being forced back by sheer volume of fire. It was when the stolen cars had almost run over the Master and Servant that Berserker had unleashed her Chariot, only for the cars to swerve around and follow the pair.

"How shall we dispatch these fools, my Queen?" Kinjo turned to look back at the cars following them. Berserker zigzagged as she rode down the street to avoid the incoming enemy fire. As the Chariot came to the next block and Berserker made to turn right, a third and fourth car came blaring from the left and right of the intersection. Without losing control, Berserker avoided the car that screamed in from the right, clipping its front right wheel and bumper with the vicious spikes on its wheels. Its tire exploded, sending the car careening into a building with a horrendous screeching of metal on asphalt.

The Chariot was forced down the next stretch of street.

* * *

><p>Assassin stood in the centre of the booby trapped street along with his Master, concentrating on his familiar's locations.<p>

"We lost a single car, but they are still on the way here." Assassin kept his eyes shut as he spoke, while Cobb relayed the information to the Soldier by radio.

In his outpost, atop the office building, the Soldier readied two sets of weapons. Loading his SL9SD, he propped it against the barrier on the roof before turning to a pair of MP5K submachine guns that needed loading.

* * *

><p>Berserker and Kinjo continued to fly down the street, chased now by three cars total. This number didn't seem to sit well with Berserker who, letting go of the Chariot's reigns with one hand, grabbed a small spear and threw it behind her.<p>

The spear found its mark in the form of a driving Suit's head, shattering the windshield before obliterating its skull. The car spun out of control before slamming into a parked car at the side of the road.

"Yes, yes, yes!" screamed Kinjo. He noticed Berserker's eyes, as they scanned the road in front of them, narrow. "You have spotted the leaders of these pathetic fools, haven't you? They actually mean to trap us!"

Upon approaching the next intersection, Berserker did not make a motion to change direction and, instead, focused her energy on dispatching each of the cars that tailed them.

* * *

><p>"I can see them now, over." The Soldier peered down the scope of the SL9SD and could observe the Chariot of Berserker and Kinjo racing towards his employer and Master.<p>

"You may fire, if you wish, over."

The Soldier looked at his radio in disgust as if the device itself had just said something ridiculous.

_One of these rounds isn't going to do shit against that thing._

* * *

><p>Passing another two intersections in the same manner as the others, Berserker had whittled down the pursuing cars down to one, even with two new ones arriving at each opportunity. However, they were now a block away from Assassin and his Master, the Chariot picking up speed.<p>

"Charge!" bellowed Kinjo.

* * *

><p>"Split, now!" Cobb commanded, the Master and Servant running to opposite sides of the road as the Chariot and the final stolen car screamed into the block, going past the building upon which the Soldier had positioned himself.<p>

The Chariot raced up the street, Kinjo noticing both Assassin and Cobb as it passed in between them.

"Blow them now!" Cobb screamed into the radio, the Soldier immediately grasping the trigger from the explosives and pressing down the switch.

As if there was something bursting out of the ground, the road erupted upwards as each line of Semtex was ignited and combusted spectacularly. The first line to ignite was the furthest away from the Chariot, creating a massive trench. The lines exploded inward from then on, one by one, until finally reaching the Chariot which, unable to properly stop in time, drove right into it.

The great black steeds that pulled the Chariot fell clumsily into the freshly created crevice in the road, tripping over and slamming against the other side of the trench. The weight and speed behind the Chariot they pulled kept it moving forward, crushing their forms against the wall of the trench and obliterating them into nothingness that was devoid of gore. As the Chariot hit the trench wall, it refused to buckle being a most powerful Noble Phantasm. Instead, it stopped dead, Berserker grabbing and wrapping herself around Kinjo as the pair was violently catapulted from their position at the reigns. Berserker twisted in midair like a cat would, colliding with the ground with tremendous force on her back only to slide right into the next trench, tumbling into it hard.

The remaining pursuit car was caught in one of the final lines of Semtex, the ignition of the plastic explosives also rupturing the fuel tank on the underside of the car, launching it in the air and creating a fireball out of what once was a mode of transportation. The flaming wreck of the car slammed back to Earth as a spread out wash of fire over the street and crevices that now lined it, the familiars inside already dissolved.

Looking on the scene from the safety of the rooftops and preparing to head down to the aid of his employer and Master, the Soldier of Fortune quickly radioed to Cobb.

"Target has been disabled, I repeat, the target has been disabled. Direct combat now possible…" It was then that the Soldier found himself dreading the utterance of two words the he would normally be all too happy to say. "Mission… accomplished."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

This was another incredibly fun chapter to get written!

I'd like to think I've improved since starting this fic. Even if it's only by a little. What do you guys think?

Anyway, as usual, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! ^^

Tune in next time, folks! Things are going to get... fun. :D


	23. Argent et le Pouvoir : Part 2

Chapter 23  
>Argent et le Pouvoir : Bête Sauvage<p>

"Isn't it sad, Saviour?" Leviathan asked, standing atop one of many office buildings that surrounded the ensuing carnage between Masters and Servants, balanced on the very edge. "Isn't it sad that all their efforts will be for naught? Isn't it sad that all this destruction and pain in the hopes of surviving, in the hopes of winning, will ultimately mean nothing?" He turned his inhuman face towards the fallen angel, who stood to his side, his features devoid of the melancholy he just described.

"Shall we hasten their deaths, and end the sadness?" Saviour formed a distinctly plain looking short sword in one hand out of a flash of gold.

Leviathan turned back to the scene unfolding below, observing a well armed man on a rooftop not as high as their own packing up weaponry before running from the stairwell entry. "No, we needn't bother bringing attention to ourselves. After all, they do not yet feel sadness. Only us, who know their fate, are burdened by it. And besides, it is best to stay an unknown factor for as long as possible. No matter how they all die, the Servants will fuel the plan upon death. Why sully our own hands?"

The fallen angel dissolved his blade. "So you wish for the very last to suffer? To know true despair in the form of glory stolen at the very last?"

"No," Leviathan said, shaking his head. "What I wish for is them to look upon me and feel true desire."

"True desire?" asked Saviour. "What do you mean?"

"The desire that leads so many astray in this world: Envy." Leviathan kept his eyes on the chaos below as he spoke. There was energy in his voice that Saviour found uplifting. "I want them to feel the urge to take my life so that they may live. I want them to desire their own benefit through my downfall. Then they shall know Envy. Then I shall look down upon their imperious selves and claim their soul for the Hellmouth myself."

"What then?"

The Prince of Hell turned to his Servant, a faint smile on his thin lips. "Then, I shall allow the rest of the world to feel Envy."

* * *

><p>Berserker was quick to right herself after collapsing into the crevice in the road. She pushed her Master off her and dragged him up with her as she stood, her eyes darting around the battleground that was once a normal street. Her Chariot had faded almost immediately after the crash, and flaming debris from the exploded car littered the street. The largest section of the burning chassis, making up the front half of the car, belched black acrid smoke skywards as various oils and lubrications burned within the engine.<p>

"It seems these fools think that they can match your power," Kinjo uttered as he himself peered around the ruined street, observing the suited figures of two men on either side of the street. Upon realisation of which those figures were, his features were warped by vaingloriousness. "Ah, it's the little businessmen. In person, no less!" He leapt out of the trench, Berserker quickly following and summoning both her shield and great spear.

"'Little businessmen', you say?" Assassin repeated, approaching the middle of the street, his Master mirroring his movements. "It sounds as if the oaf has developed something that could be recognised as intelligence!" The Servant turned his face to Cobb, looking for follow through.

James Cobb decided to oblige. "Indeed. Perhaps it will make this conflict interesting." The Master of Assassin knew he was bluffing their strength. Implying anything other than that both Kinjo and Berserker were an extreme risk to anyone in Lyon, never mind the Grail War, was a falsity. However, it was better to put on a brave face, Cobb thought, than to be demoralised from the very start.

"Both of you as arrogant as when I first met you at the beginning of this War," Kinjo said, drawing his blade and twirling it in one hand. He walked towards the Servant and Master before him. "I suppose my hideout collapsing down on me and my Queen was your doing?" Kinjo looked past both, spying the Soldier of Fortune moving through wreckage of the car.

Both Cobb and Assassin looked back for a split second, in the direction of Takeo Kinjo's gaze, to find the Soldier's eyes widen and shout out. "Don't take your eyes off them!" Time slowed to a crawl as Cobb reacted to the warning first, turning back to both Berserker and Kinjo to find that Berserker had simply vanished, and Kinjo was launching forward at great speed directly at him. While he had precious little time left, Cobb's eyes shot around as he searched for Berserker. His gaze was eventually drawn skyward. His face went white.

"Assassin!" the Englishman bellowed, the Servant halfway turned back to where Berserker had been. "Above you! Move _now_!"

Assassin did not bother to look upwards, or even follow through in looking back, instead opting to dive to the side as the spear of Berserker came crashing down where he only just moments ago stood. Cobb, who was metres away from his own Servant before he had dodged, leapt to the side as well only to have to roll out of the way of the deadly blade of Kinjo who had reached him.

"Little businessmen know nothing of war!" the Master of Berserker taunted, cornering Cobb and forcing him away from his Servant.

Assassin's dive left him lying on the ground, Berserker standing beside him with her spear stuck in the asphalt of the road down to the shaft, the entire tip forced into the hard surface. Before she could wrench it free, there was a pattering metallic sound that forced her to pull up her shield to cover herself. The 9mm rounds from the Soldier's dual-wielded MP5K sub-machineguns pounded against her roughly hewn wooden shield, but it did not cause any visible damage to it. The rounds that impacted the shield landed to the ground before it, squashed as if they had made contact with an immoveable object.

Assassin watched from his position on the ground, to the side of Berserker. Her eyes, cold and focused, seemed to bore a whole into his head as she stared at him while under the cover of the shield, slowly trying to reclaim her spear from the ground without jerking herself from her cover. Assassin could only lie still and return the behemoth's gaze, terrified.

"MOVE!" roared the Soldier, marching forward as his clips quickly drained. The yell burst through the fear clouding Assassin's mind like a hot knife would tear through butter, and the Servant leapt to his feet and ran back to the Soldier's side, hiding just behind him. The Soldier spoke to his employer, but kept his eyes focused on Berserker. "I'm going to run dry in a second. You stay behind me. Clear?"

Assassin opened his mouth to protest at his hired aide's audacity just as the MP5Ks ran dry. The moment the firing pins of the empty weapons made their signature _click_ as the final round escaped their barrels, Berserker swept out her shield, her spear now firmly within her grasp once more, and charged at the pair.

Placing the MP5K in his left hand into a specially made holster on his back, the Soldier backpedalled, forcing Assassin to do the same. As he bought time by moving back, the Soldier swiftly ejected the clip on his sub-machinegun and pulled a fresh, full clip off of his combat webbing and reloaded. The entire action was complete by the time Berserker was making a direct thrust at both Assassin and the Soldier. As the spear blasted through the air, the battle hardened familiar kicked his employer aside and moved along with him.

"How dare you!" Assassin yelled at the Soldier. In a moment of irrational anger, Assassin searched his familiar's figure for something in particular. He found it attached to his belt, held in a holster. The Servant tore the Heckler & Koch Mark 23 sidearm from its holster.

Aiming the small pistol straight ahead, directly at the side of Berserker's head, Assassin pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p>"You're not so bad, businessman," Kinjo mocked, taking a hold of his sword with both hands. "I'm surprised you even dodged the first blow. It's not common for me to have to actually fight properly." He began to pace around Cobb in a circle, which the Master of Assassin copied in turn.<p>

_Damn,_ Cobb thought. _I'm going to have to use them already._ He had been smart enough and swift enough to dodge the continuous attacks of Kinjo so far, but he had his doubts about his ability to fight back if he didn't do something drastic, right then and there. Cobb laughed out loud.

"What's so funny? Why do you laugh before the one who will most certainly kill you?" Kinjo spoke harshly, but had a sick smile on his face.

"I apologise. That was rude of me." Cobb stood tall and straightened his suit, clearing his throat. The Master of Berserker froze in place at the sudden laxness of his opponent.

"What are you planning?" Kinjo asked, his voice a guttural growl. The swordsman was rarely treated as if he was not a threat, and it was an insult to him to not be. The Master of Assassin noticed the change in disposition.

_Good. Good._

Ignoring the question, Cobb took his nonchalance further and put his hands in his pockets. "I find it odd that you continue to degrade the pair of us. Do you think so little of us 'businessmen' that you think we confronted you without a chance of winning?" He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarillo, and then his lighter with his name engraved upon it. Kinjo looked on, frustration building within him, muscles twitching as if the anger had seeped into them.

The business wunderkind lit up the cigarillo, rotating the lighter just off the tip. He took a puff, and exhaled the flavoured smoke. "You know, I've been told that I'm a 'philistine' for using a lighter to light my cigarillo. In many circles, matches are considered better. Personally, I find that just a little… elitist." Cobb's musings had the intended effect.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Kinjo roared, his twitching now a visible quake all throughout his body. Cobb sighed, taking another puff of the cigarillo.

"Well? Are you going to come at me or not?" Cobb spread his arms wide as if welcoming as guest to his home. Inside Kinjo's mind, something already strained to its limits snapped. The Master of Berserker flung himself at his opponent. However, he kept his usual strong posture and movements. An outburst of rage was not enough to ruin a lifetime of training. Just as Kinjo came close enough to unleash an almost certainly fatal blow, Cobb sneered.

_Perfect!_

As Kinjo brought his sword down to bifurcate the Master of Assassin, there was almighty tearing sound, not unlike fabric being violently ripped apart. It was then that Kinjo's sword came to an immediate stop, mere centimetres from Cobb's face.

"What… What is this?!" Kinjo's eyes darted around the figure of Cobb, observing four long limbs that originated from behind the businessman, two from his left and two from his right, one on each side from below his arms and one on each side from above his arms. They ended in what looked like clawed dolls hands that were now firmly clamped onto Kinjo's sword, holding it perfectly still.

"They are the last work of the Cornelius Alba before his untimely death," Cobb said slowly, his voice dripping with venom. At the drop of the name of the once brilliant puppeteer, Kinjo's eyes widened. "Ah, so you know the same. Good." The Master of Assassin took a puff from his cigarillo, taking it from his mouth with one of his natural arms, and blew the smoke straight into Kinjo's face. The swordsman did not flinch or even blink at the acrid and disgusting gas, instead staring at his opponent with a look that could kill.

"What happened?" Cobb asked, the disturbing, doll like limbs that sprouted from his back springing to life, their movements alarmingly natural. They wrenched at Kinjo's sword, trying to break the Master's grip, dragging it upwards through the air. It was then that Kinjo noticed the absurd length of the faux arms that gripped his blade, observing that fully extended, they were far further reaching than a full swing of his sword and they had what appeared to be two elbow-like joints for each arm. "Where has your tenacity fled to?"

With absurd strength, the puppet like limbs jerked upwards to their absolute limit, lifting Kinjo off the ground as he tightly gripped his treasured weapon, refusing to let go. As quickly as the arms shot upwards, they plummeted downwards, slamming the swordsman hard into the ground. Kinjo still refused to release his blade, inciting Cobb to repeat the violent attack two more times in quick succession.

"Have you had enough?" Cobb lifted the bloody swordsman from the ground so that their eyes met. The moment they did, the Master of Assassin saw the horrifyingly pleased face of Kinjo, eyes wild, lips twitching around his disgusting teeth. "Clearly not." With one swift movement, the doll arms swung Kinjo to one side then swept back in the other direction, catapulting the swordsman down the street. He landed on the ground violently upon one on his left shoulder, a sickening crack indicting it had dislocated. Sliding to the lip of one of the many crevices in the road, he finally halted all movement.

For a moment, Kinjo's body seemed completely lifeless. While keeping his eyes on his opponent, the arms behind Cobb's back flexed, the bladed fingers wriggling vigorously as if the awaken them from lack of use.

_They're stiff,_ Cobb thought with a grimace. _That's what I get for not exercising with them for so long._ It was then that the limp body of Kinjo sprang to life. As if he had been hit by a jolt of electricity, he bolted upright from his back, still holding onto his sword with his right hand. Kinjo's left arm hung limply by his side, the bone clearly dislodged from the shoulder. Finally releasing his sword, Kinjo grasped his upper arm and rammed his arm back into its joint.

Cobb could only marvel at the swordsman as he rotated his limb around in the socket, seemingly unaware of how painful it was supposed to be. Kinjo quickly took up his sword once more, grasping firmly with both hands and turned to face the Magus with extra limbs.

"That was interesting," Kinjo growled, crazed. "Perhaps I was underestimating you, little businessman. Perhaps this will be a battle worthy of the retainer to the Queen of the Iceni." He flashed his repulsive teeth in a snarl.

Refraining from falling for the same banter he had only just used to toy with Kinjo, Cobb crossed his arms as his limbs behind him lowered to the ground, taking his weight, and lifting him a clear foot off the ground. He took another slow drag and puff from his cigarillo, savouring the last flavour he would be able to mentally process before he had to set his mind towards the battle

Roaring with delight and crazed fervour, Kinjo charged at the businessman magus, eyes alight with his passion for bloodshed.

* * *

><p>Berserker's head snapped to the side, the .45 ACP calibre Black Talon round impacting the Servant with extreme force. The deadly and specialised hollow point bullet tore through her thick hair, piercing and rending the skin. The behemoth took a stumbling step to one side, knocked ever so slightly off balance by the unexpected attack. A gout of blood burst from within the shaggy orange mane that covered Berserker's head, and along with it came a light metallic clatter from the ground.<p>

The Soldier of Fortune looked to the source of the sound, quickly seeing the Black Talon round lying on the ground. At the speed and range it connected with Berserker, the Soldier thought, the bullet should have penetrated her skull and shredded her very brain to ribbons. Thus, the round fired by Assassin should be in pieces, lodged within Berserker's head. Instead, the hollow point round lay on the ground at her feet, misshapen from the impact with something it could not penetrate.

_Oh… Shit…_ The Soldier turned to look at the arm that passed over his shoulder. It was still clutching the sidearm that was once in his holster, and it was shaking from fear. The Soldier scowled, frustrated with his employer. _I told him he shouldn't be here. I told him._

"Hurgh…" The behemoth of a Servant made a strangling noise, almost like it was gargling words it wished to speak. Slowly turning to face the businessman and his mercenary, Berserker cocked her head, blood trickling down the right side of her neck and beginning to mat her hair. The Soldier noticed something that made his blood freeze in his very veins. Berserker's eyes were not trained on him, but instead they were trained on Assassin, who still held the smoking H&K Mark 23 in his hand.

"Move back, now!" screamed, the Soldier, raising his fully loaded MP5K and unleashing a hailstorm of bullets upon the hulking giant before him. With lightning fast reflexes, Berserker had already swept up her shield as the Soldier's arms had only just begun to raise his weapon. Taking a step back, the Soldier hit into Assassin, who still drew a bead on Berserker but refrained from firing. Sustaining his fire, the Soldier grasped the still outstretched hand of his employer and wrenched it downwards, before feeling behind himself for Assassin's collar. Upon finding it, he pulled his employer to one side and kept moving back, dragging Assassin with him. "I said, move!"

Moving forward with the shield, Berserker followed the movement of the Soldier and slowly marched forward behind the great wall of wood, much to his alarm. "Damn, this thing isn't fucking stupid. It's just waiting for me to run dry!" Moving back, he turned to Assassin. His employer was shaking, unused to combat proper, with sweat pouring down his paled face and eyes wide with fear.

"I shot it in the head…" Assassin was beginning to breathe hard, bordering on hyperventilation. He submitted to the force of the Soldier who dragged him back with each step. "It should be dead!"

With sudden and brutal force, the Soldier tugged hard on Assassin's collar, his employer flying forward and their heads colliding violently together. "If you don't get your act together, you're going to get us both killed!" The Soldier barked at his employer who was reeling from the head butt. "We need reinforcements-" While he spoke, the clip in his MP5K ran dry. "NOW!"

Leaping to one side, and dragging Assassin with him, the Soldier pre-empted the swift counterattack from Berserker who, immediately tearing her shield aside upon the click of the empty gun, thrust her spear forward with enough speed to create a small burst of wind from all around her. Assassin and the Soldier landed hard, with the latter letting go of his employer to safely roll without crashing to the ground. Assassin wasn't so agile, and landed face first into the asphalt of the street. However, he felt the rough grasp and violent pulling at his arm by the Soldier who yanked him to his feet and took off running away from Berserker.

"Unhand me!" Assassin yelled at the Soldier who looked back at his employer with daggers in his eyes. "I am not so weak tha-"

"Oh yes you are," the Soldier retorted before Assassin even finished. "Bitch at me later, dock my pay even, but we need help right now or we're going to die!" The mercenary looked past his employer to see Berserker taking great strides towards them, spear and shield at the ready. "I thought we had planned for this?!"

Without a word, but with a most hateful snarl on his face, Assassin retrieved his mobile phone from the breast pocket of his suit and placed it to his ear. He quickly placed it back in his pocket.

"Where the hell are they?" the Soldier yelled, reloading the MP5K in his hand and withdrawing the second MP5K from the holster on his back and clumsily reloading it while still holding the other sub-machinegun. The Soldier turned back to check on his employer when he heard the sharp sound of a rifle.

_CRACK_.

Behind Assassin, Berserker had stopped suddenly as a wash of blood shot out one of her legs at thigh level. Stumbling, she raised her shield above her head as a high velocity sniper round threatened to blast through her skull. Instead, it bounced of the shield violently, leaving nothing but a small indent in the wall like shield.

Automatic fire erupted for windows lining the street, some sealed office windows being shattered by bullets and gun butts. The sheer volume of fire from at least twenty gunners tore up the street around Berserker, forcing her to raise her shield directly above herself. As bullets scored her sides and ripped through her limbs, both the Soldier and Assassin stopped, the Servant turning to his hired gun, contented.

"Why, they are everywhere."

* * *

><p>The crackling of gunfire did little to distract either Masters from their battle. Kinjo, lost in a wave of bloodlust seemed to not notice the sound as he unleashed blow after blow towards the extra limbed magus. He had failed to land a single blow on Cobb, the puppet limbs proving themselves a worthy defence. The Master of Assassin, on the other hand, had been able to land multiple clean strikes to the swordsman. However, much to his dismay, the battle crazy Master refused to acknowledge the pain he should have been feeling.<p>

Balancing on three limbs, Cobb launched a thrust with a clawed hand straight at Kinjo's face. Bending backwards, the swordsman used his left hand to prop himself up while he used his sword to keep the thrusting, which was now flying above his body, from twisting downwards and piercing right through him.

"Rarrgh!" grunted Kinjo as he spun to the right, the edge of his blade running perpendicular under the limb and beginning to make a light gash into its hard exterior. The swordsman flipped out from under the arm and Cobb staggered backwards as he retracted the limb and quickly inspected it for damage.

_Barely a scratch, but I started to feel that one. He can get through the armour in a pinch…_

The suited mage lifted himself high with his puppet limbs and quickly manoeuvred further backwards, creating space between himself and Kinjo who was raising himself from the ground. The Japanese Master was breathing hard and looked to be a bloody mess thanks to a cut above the left eye, and multiple wound that had destroyed the rough coat he wore. Wiping away the blood from above his eye, Kinjo sheathed his sword momentarily and proceeded to tear off his coat completely, casting it aside.

"It's interesting," Cobb began, taking another puff from his cigarillo. It was already halfway burned, much to his disappointment. "That you saw it fit to essentially disarm yourself by sheathing your blade in my presence. Did you not expect me to attack you?" Kinjo spat a thick gob of sputum to the ground before unleashing his blade from its scabbard once more and took slow steps towards his opponent.

"What's more interesting is that you were too cowardly to actually attack me while I was vulnerable." Kinjo's retort was blunt and spoken with a deliberately playful tone that one would use when coddling a child. The once smug expression on Cobb's face melted away into one of malice. Grimacing he took the still burning cigarillo from the corner of his mouth again, only this time holding it between two fingers.

"So you think it was cowardice that stopped me from attacking you?" asked the businessman, tapping the end of the cigarillo furiously as if to remove his frustrations along with the burning tobacco ash that fell to the ground by his feet.

Kinjo refused to reply, only continuing forward, now picking up speed and raising his blade to one side as he charged. Cobb sneered and left himself open once again, Kinjo seemingly neglecting to learn from the past. Leaping forward, the swordsman unleashed a singlehanded swipe, only for his wrist to be caught by one of the puppet limbs, clamping down on it tightly. Another limb flew at the Japanese Master, grabbing his other arm, its clawed fingers piercing deeply into its flesh.

"Rrrgh," Kinjo managed, attempting to let fly a kick to Cobb, before the businessman suddenly dropped in height and he felt sharp pains in both his legs. He looked down to find himself gripped by the remaining two arms, both arm's claws tearing skin and sending blood flowing down his legs. The arms pulled the Japanese Master closer to Cobb so that there was barely twenty centimetres between them.

While it was off putting to smell the rancid breath of Kinjo and to look upon a man so caught in bloodlust that he seemed oblivious to pain, a psychotic grin still spread across his face, Cobb knew he had the Master of Berserker right where he wanted him. "Cowardice? Really? I had thought you were smarter than that." He twirled the cigarillo around in his hand.

Lifting the cigarillo in his hand, grasping it between thumb and forefinger, Cobb pressed it into Kinjo's chest. The Japanese Master merely kept his crazed eyes on the businessman before him, as if he felt no pain at all. Eyes locked with each other, Cobb repeated the action multiple times across Kinjo's chest while Kinjo remained silent. The cigarillo left multiple burnt welts on Kinjo's body, instantly cauterised by intense heat and intended to be incredibly painful. The lack of a reaction left Cobb with little recourse.

_Fine. No holding back from now on. No more games. He shall suffer. _

"Fear had nothing to do with my lack of action." Cobb raised the cigarillo to Kinjo's face, right up to his left eye. The swordsman refused to blink. "It had more to do with certainty. Certainty that, no matter whom you are, that I could and would _kill you_." Cobb swiftly rammed the burning cigarillo into Kinjo's eye. This time, he could not resist the urge to scream.

The ear rending wail of pain from Kinjo was accompanied by his attempts at thrashing his way out of Cobb's vicious grip. It only served to allow the clawed hands of Cobb's puppet limbs to rend his legs and arms, as he struggled hopelessly to rip himself from his opponent's grasp, to no avail. His yells died down into a guttural growling at the pain, like some rabid animal's warning sound.

Cobb pulled the ruined cigarillo from Kinjo's eye, taking one last puff, expelling the air into the trapped Master's face before dropping it to the ground and crushing it under his dress shoe. "You are mad. You didn't even try to close your eye in the face of that amount of damage? Pathetic." Cobb looked upon the ruined left eye of Kinjo, the eyeball had a blackened and charred centre with the iris completely annihilated and the whites of the eyes now turned a visceral red. Tears leaked from the eye as Kinjo achingly blinked, reeling in pain each time.

"This is ending now." Cobb placed his hand in his pockets as his extra limbs began to pull tightly on each of each of Kinjo's own limbs, threatening to literally tear him apart limb from limb. "Goodbye, Master of Berserker."

"No…" Kinjo wheezed, straining against the power of Cobb's puppet arms. "My Queen will not allow failure." Summoning all his strength, the loyal follower of the Queen of the Iceni slowly matched the pulling power of the limbs with that of his own. Cobb's face strained as he concentrated surpassing Kinjo's strength.

"Then you will just have to disobey your Queen and die!" Cobb's arms pulled ever tighter, only to begin losing the battle. Deciding to cut his losses, the businessman clamped the clawed hands gripping Kinjo down tighter, attempting to lacerate muscle and crunch bones.

"ARGH!" With a mighty bellow, Takeo Kinjo unleashed a completely unexpected head butt directly to Cobb's face. He rocked backwards, hands stuck in pockets and in shock from the sudden blow. Taking opportunity of the lapse in concentration, Kinjo tore the arm that held his blade free from the loosened grip of the claw.

"Shi-" Cobb only just managed to stretch out his puppet limbs, releasing Kinjo so he flew backwards, as the swordsman's blade tore across his chest. Thanks to the throw, the very tip of the katana only just pierced his chest diagonally, cutting through his suit and dismembering his tie. A small leakage of blood began from the wound.

Kinjo clattered to the ground and rolled back. He stood slowly, panting and trying to endure the pain of bearing his own weight on his wounded legs. Cobb tore a hand out of his pocket and ran it across his chest, feeling the warmth of his own blood, then proceeded to free his other hand a place it to his face. His nose was broken, with blood pouring out of his nostrils. He grasped at his torn tie, throwing away both the cut part and the rest remaining around his neck after roughly untying it. Kinjo merely watched on, readying his stance and taking the opportunity to become accustomed to the pain all through his body.

"Where has your certainty gone now, little businessman?" Kinjo taunted with a sneer.

Boring holes into the Master of Berserker's head with his eyes, James Cobb rose up onto his puppet limbs once more, his feet leaving the ground. "Nowhere."

* * *

><p>"Look at them, Saviour," Leviathan said, his Servant moving to his side at the edge of the office roof. The Prince of Hell had stood in silence until then, watching the carnage below while Saviour stood like a statue behind him. "Look at how they fight, how they act."<p>

The fallen angel looked down at the scene below him, both Masters ragged. The one that wielded a sword was most definitely worse off when it came to wounds, but he appeared as capable as ever despite looking almost entirely coated in his own blood. The man in the suit, with four great prosthetic limbs bursting out of his back, was barely injured at all, looking as if he were just in a bar room brawl. However, something was off about his demeanour.

"They both fight with such arrogance, such haughtiness. It's a shame, but I fear these two would be doomed to Lucifer and not me, being victims of Pride." Leviathan spoke forlornly, genuinely disappointed at the efforts of both Masters.

"The swordsman will win this fight." Saviour spoke bluntly, continuing to watch the pair of Master's below. Leviathan looked to his Servant, eyebrow raised. Saviour took his cue to explain further. "The man in the suit is scared to the core. Fear grips his heart, even if he is trying to hide it under a façade of power. His power is immense, yes, but from the start of this fight, he has been terrified."

"Terrified of what, Saviour?"

Saviour pointed directly at Takeo Kinjo. "His smile."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

And another chapter down! Huzzah!

I had a ton of fun writing this one, as the fight scenes are a tad more difficult than I'm used to. The Master + Servant pairs are on the eclectic side and it makes things interesting to choreograph.

Anyway, I hope you had fun reading, and tune in next time! ^^


	24. Argent et le Pouvoir : Part 3

Chapter 24  
>Argent et le Pouvoir : Machinerie de Malheur<p>

As the cacophony of gunfire rained down on Berserker, the distinct sound of a single sniper punctured the air as if their bullets tore the very air apart. Unable to protect herself from both the super accurate sniper fire and automatic fire of other familiars, the precise fire of the sniper won every time, blasting through her uncovered spots.

"Hrrrrgh… Haaaah…" Berserker quaked where she stood as she was slowly torn apart. Her eyes darted around her, trying to spot specific sources of gunfire; trying to spot a target to release herself upon.

Assassin looked on in glee, the Soldier of Fortune taking the time to check his guns and reload. The Servant raised his arms in order to applaud the services of his own killers when he realised he still clutched the Heckler & Koch Mark 23 pistol of his employed mercenary in his hand. He eyed it for a second, confused, before his lips curled into a most dangerous sneer.

"What are you doing?" the Soldier said as Assassin stepped towards Berserker who was still pinned down. The Servant raised the pistol he held, aiming towards one of Berserker's already injured but open legs. "Are you mad?"

Assassin opened fire, his lack of training sending every bullet wide of its target and impacting the ground around Berserker. However, it had the exact reaction that the Soldier knew would happen.

_He hurt the damn thing and it's already on a vendetta against him, so he shoots at it again?!_

Berserker swiftly turned around in place, her eyes locking with Assassin's. The businessman kept up with haughty demeanour until the twelve round clip on his handgun ran dry. He pumped the trigger repeatedly after it emptied; expecting a magical supply of rounds from his own concentrated self-assurance. When the Mark 23 refused to fire anymore, he threw it away, always keeping his gaze on Berserker. The Soldier saw the inhuman rage in the eyes f the beast whose ire Assassin had just raised.

"Now you've fuckin' done it!" roared the mercenary, advancing past Assassin and forcing him back with push to his chest. Raising both his MP5K sub-machineguns, the Soldier readied himself to join the gunfire that still assaulted Berserker, but not before turning quickly back to his employer. "You're going to be the death of us all, you stupid fuck!" Assassin let out a laugh, derisive in its shortness and tone.

"What? That pathetic excuse for a Servant before us, all brawn and no brains, is all but finished!" The business placed a firm hand on his hired-gun's shoulder. His voice quickly went cold. "And who do you think you are calling your employer a stupid fuck?" The Soldier's face twitched as he resisted the inner urge to snarl. Instead he turned back to Berserker.

"Oh… Fuck no…" the Soldier found himself gasping. His eyes back on Berserker, he saw her shaking violently. She was already shuddering earlier as bullets collided with her shield, but this was different. It was out of time with the bullet impacts, and came from her centre, not her from the head down. As far as the Soldier could see, Berserker's muscles were locking up so much the automatic fire against her shield didn't even cause her arm to budge. However, it was when he saw her face that he went cold.

"What is it? Fire, man, fire!" Assassin urged as he shook the mercenary by the shoulder, confused at his hesitation. He looked at his employee's target, only to clench up in terror.

Berserker's usually calm face was now the picture of wrath incarnate. Her emotionless features were twisted, contorted, by rage; teeth bared, nostrils flared and facial muscles at maximum tension. Her wild eyes looked past the Soldier, and focused only on the man in the suit who had managed to spill her blood.

"Die." A fully formed word passed over Berserker's lips in a raspy but disturbingly honeyed voice. It was quiet amongst the cacophony of gunfire that still rained down upon her, but Assassin and the Soldier of Fortune heard it loud and clear as if she was deathly close to the pair of them. Suddenly, she shrunk herself down, curling up further under her shield and turning her face to the floor, allowing her mane of red hair to touch the ground.

"Fire…" Assassin hissed, the hand he still laid on the Soldier's shoulder growing tighter and tighter. "For fuck sake, fi-" The Servant was cut-off in the middle of his fear induced command.

Berserker let loose a monstrous screech, throwing back her shield and spreading her arms wide. She looked up into the sky, shaking from pure anger, and kept on screaming at the top of her lungs. Both Assassin and the Soldier covered their ears as the piercing howl tore down the night-time streets. It was hard to make out, but the pair of them recognised that the scream was in fact a single word.

_Die._

Time froze as her scream rose to the level of a banshee, the asphalt beneath her feet becoming riddled with cracks that started at the base of her feet. She dug into the ground with the force of the screech just as the street dissolved into complete chaos.

_Die._

As one, the glass outer walls of the office buildings that lined the block shattered, blasting inwards. The familiars of Assassin, caught completely off guard, were torn limb from limb by the large pieces of glass that blasted towards them and instantly melted away.

_Die._

Both Masters and Servants stopped as the scream rose higher and higher, until it reached a point where it could rise no more. The ear splitting screeched curled as Berserker stopped, her arms falling limp at her sides and her head lolling back and forth for a second. In that second there was complete and utter silence.

_Die._

Berserker righted herself with speed, enraged. She lifted her shield and slammed it to the ground in front of her like a wall. She lifted her spear and slammed it against her shield repeatedly. Bloody and beaten, the Queen of the Iceni stood ready to launch her counterattack.

_Die._

* * *

><p>James Cobb stared at the beast that his own Servant had unleashed, further away from the Servants than Kinjo, whose open back he also had a clear view of. As Berserker's scream ended, he could not help but look on in fear at the monstrous Servant, knowing he should attack now while he could. But try as he might, his legs would not respond to his commands.<p>

The Japanese Master slowly turned to face Cobb as Berserker began to slam at her own shield with her spear, his face one of ecstasy. The smile on his face tightened when he saw that the businessman had not budged an inch.

"You shake." Kinjo pointed at Cobb's real right hand. The businessman looked down at it and found the Master of Berserker to be speaking the the truth. His hand was shaking. He made to grab at it with his left hand, only to raise both to his face and see both quiver in fear; the primal fear of death. "You shake before the might of my Queen." Kinjo took Cobb's continued silence as an excuse to continue.

"Her rage has finally reached its peak, and she is now whole." The swordsman suddenly leapt at Cobb, who roughly blocked the blow with a puppet arm, jumping away from the attack as it was deflected. "Feel honour, fool in a suit: you are in the presence of the mightiest force of nature on this planet."

Kinjo attacked once again, resulting in another barely deflected act of defence from Cobb who stumbled as he took several steps back from his foe. The swordsman's eyes shone as he saw the mistake, lunging quickly a second time. Cobb's mind, lost in a dark pit of fear, ground to halt. Instead of raising his puppet arms, his instincts drove him to lift up his flesh and bone limbs to defend himself. Kinjo's katana easily pierced the businessman's left arm, the tip burst through with a beeline to his face. Cobb raised the arm out of the way of his face, directing the sword above his head. The force of the blow turned the stumble into a fall, and the pair of Masters landed hard on the ground, Cobb on his back with Kinjo lying above.

"Perhaps, I will give you the further honour," Kinjo whispered, leaning in close to Cobb, speaking directly into his ear. "Of being killed by my Queen herself." The Master of Berserker lifted his head away from Cobb's ear and grinned inanely at the businessman. "But you must prove yourself worthy first!"

Word refusing to escape his throat, limbs refusing to obey his mental commands, James Cobb lay beneath the crazed Master of Berserker and in his rattled and noise filled mind, only four words were clear:

_I'm going to die._

* * *

><p>"Hmph." Leviathan looked down upon the carnage below, his face showing his displeasure with the turn of events that had unfolded. "It seems you were right, Saviour. That swordsman looks as if he has the suited man frozen by fear. It does not help that the behemoth of a Servant that the swordsman controls seems to have lost all of their control." Saviour could not help but note the disappointment emanating from his Master.<p>

"You did not wish for the Master of Berserker to be the victor of this battle?" the fallen angel asked, probing his Master. Leviathan turned to his Servant, his face melancholic. "I certainly did not expect you to invest yourself into such a pithy conflict, Master." Leviathan's melancholy quickly turned to a hard to read expression, one that Saviour had not observed on his Master before. What it came close to was a frown.

"It is not so much investment as much as it is a desire for entertainment." Leviathan spoke sharply. Saviour took this as a sign to not push the issue further, but Leviathan did that himself without further questioning. "But I cannot deny that I would have been more enthralled by this battle if the suited pair was on a proper footing against such brute strength. Perhaps I could change all that." The homunculus' eyes began to glow a vivid and shining blue, flickering out from his pupils to the edge of his irises, before he turned back to the scene of destruction below.

Saviour was undoubtedly confused. "Master, what are you doing?"

"I am giving the gift of power to those below that need it the most," Leviathan stated matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes on the ground. Saviour looked down, trying to see the power of which his Master spoke.

"I do not understand." Saviour could not see what his Master could be referring to or how he could aid the suited pair below without direct action. "Are you sure it's wise to involve ourselves? You said yourself it's best to stay unnoticed." Leviathan chuckled, knowing more than his Servant.

"A gift of the mana of the Grail need not require direct interaction when you are the very catalyst to its creation. When the suited Servant eventually succumbs like all the others, the mana will simply return to the Grail as it normally does." Leviathan gave his Servant an arrogant smile, Saviour immediately realising what his Master had done.

"You can't have… Are you sure this won't disrupt the War itself?" Saviour asked, amazed at his Master's audacity.

"It will not. Simply wait and watch the spectacle unfold before us." Leviathan once again turned back to the battle between Masters and Servants, now with a satisfied look upon his face, licking his thing lips. "Do you not wish to see what carnage these poor souls can wreak before their inevitable demise?"

* * *

><p>Berserker attacked hard and fast, slamming hard against the ground with one foot to propel herself at both Assassin and the Soldier of Fortune. Both the businessman and the mercenary jumped to the side, Assassin to one side and the Soldier to the other, as Berserker slammed her spear into the ground where the pair stood seconds ago.<p>

"Holy shit," the Soldier managed to force out as he looked at the figure of Berserker who was only metres from them both. Looking past her shield, her legs were clearly bloodied and shredded. The plain dress she wore was riddled with holes on the lower half of her body and dyed a vibrant red from her own blood. The blood from the wound on her head had poured down the side of her head and continued to slowly ooze out the wound, dripping down to the torque around her neck.

Hesitating at the sight of this bloodied behemoth, the Soldier did not even raise his MP5Ks, suddenly observing Berserker spin around and thrust her spear directly at him. The mercenary lost his footing, talking only a faltering step to away and to the side of the spear. It wasn't enough to effectively dodge the vicious spear head that proceeded to spear through his left side, obliterating his bottommost rib.

Unable to form words, the Soldier simply let out a gasping groan before falling to his knees, still holding his two MP5Ks firmly in his hands as he struggled to stand despite the intense pain of his wound. Following up her attack while the Soldier was on his knees, Berserker unleashed a brutal blow from her shield directly to his face, knocking him straight back into the ground. His head collided with the asphalt behind him with a sickening _TWHACK_, knocking the familiar into a completely listless daze. Knowing her work was done, she left the Soldier in his barely conscious state.

Assassin, using the time spent on the attack against his familiar wisely, had begun to run down the street, away from the melee. "I need more men!" He pulled out his phone from his pocket as he ran and placed it to his ear. Where there was usually a message that responded to the prana he sent to the phone, there was a sudden electrical screech that turned into a constant whine.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, tearing the phone from his ear and looking at it in wild confusion. Behind him he could hear the thunderous steps of Berserker, now only concerned with his own obliteration. Turning back to where he was running he just noticed he was on the edge of one of the Soldiers explosive produced crevices that lined the street.

Uttering a strained groan from exertion unknown to the businessman Servant, Assassin tried in vain to jump the gap late. Almost missing the edge he leapt from with his foremost foot, he fell forward before achieving any air, launching almost horizontally and landing chest first into the opposite edge of the trench. There was a dull snapping sound as he landed, ribs breaking. He slumped into the trench and wheezed hard as he tried to breath with broken ribs and a bruised chest.

Berserker charged at full speed towards the downed Servant. All Assassin could do was lie there as he struggled to breathe as death approached him. Knowing her quarry was disabled and at her mercy, Berserker increased her speed, her face becoming visible by Assassin laying the trench. It was maddened and wild with what appeared to be an attempt at a disturbed smile that was marred by her lack higher brain function. Assassin's body suddenly tensed up, his brain beginning to hurt so much his eyesight blurred and the Servant knew why. His mouth went dry and his heartbeat began to race.

_N-No… I don't need M.A.D. now… Not here…_

Clenching his teeth hard, Assassin fought hard to prevent what was happening to him as Berserker drew right up to the edge of the trench. To Assassin's surprise, the behemoth slid to a halt before the crevice and stood above the businessman.

"So…" Assassin forced himself to say, breathing hard with each word he spoke. "You want to take your time, you mindless pile of shit!" The businessman tried to stand and found he couldn't out of sheer pain from both his chest and the pounding in his head. Berserker cocked her head at the Servant laying before her, her face twitching Assassin now noticed. He gave a sigh.

_Maybe M.A.D. is the only way to go…_ Assassin thought, tempted to succumb to the pounding in his head. However, the hesitation at the thought of a Pyrrhic victory gave him the chance to feel the vibration that was coming from his hand. Assassin looked to the source and found he still clutched his phone, and that it was vibrating from an incoming call.

"What the…?" he said out loud, raising the phone immediately to his ear out of reflex. As the phone reached his ear, he felt a sharp pain pierce his ear from the phone, followed by a massive surge of energy, specifically, prana from a source unknown to the Servant. Confused, Assassin simply stared at Berserker for a full second before his quick-witted businessman mind kicked into gear.

Sneering, he kept the phone to his ear for a time before dropping it to the ground with a clatter. Berserker seemed to activate from the dropped phone, taking a step down into the trench. Assassin began to laugh.

"I don't know who or what that was, but I've no use for Mutually Assured Destruction now." The laughing hurt his chest immensely, but the prana burst he had received had also accelerated the healing process and provided some form of pain relief. "I don't even need your death to summon this."

Berserker took a slow step forward, seemingly aware of some form of danger, when there was a distant but clear crashing sound from far behind her. Crumbling bricks and shattered glass could be heard down the street at least two blocks away, Berserker swiftly turning her back on Assassin and to the source of the sound. She swirled around just in time to hear the crack of a huge gun, see a flash of flames and smoke in the distance, and fling herself to one side, avoiding a whistling projectile that threatened to blast her head off her shoulders. The projectile kept on down the street until it reached a T-intersection, where it promptly slammed into the façade of a building and exploded violently, setting the surrounding area on fire.

"I don't know how this works," Assassin wheezed. "But it's over, you bitch!" As the downed Servant spoke, the rumbling of a starting engine began as the source of the projectile came to life down the street and made its way towards the battle.

Berserker made to turn back to Assassin and destroy the new enemy at its apparent source, making to thrust her spear directly into Assassin's chest as soon as she face him when another projectile could be heard being fired. She was halfway turned around when the projectile flew past her face, and for a fleeting moment, she was able to see it clearly.

It was a thin metallic rod, narrowing at the front end and complete with stabilising fins at the rear. It looked like a miniature missile, but lacked any painted markings or a warhead. Instead it was simply just a single rod, and as it flew past Berserker's face, she changed her mind, turning full circle to the new enemy that was now roaring down the street, clearly able to fire in motion.

At the firing of the second round, the Soldier of Fortune stirred from his stupefied state and forced himself to his feet, wobbling and grasping at his aching head.

_I know that sound…_ He looked towards the rumbling engine to find that barely fifty metres down the road was a fully armed and armoured main battle tank tearing up the street as it rocketed right at the scene of the battle between Masters and Servants. _He said that it would require Berserker's death to summon this thing!_

The Soldier turned around to see the bloodied but still breathing Berserker run straight past him and right at the tank. The tank kept increasing its speed, and fired again, Berserker ducking low to avoid what the Soldier recognised as a Kinetic Energy Penetrator shell. The round was fired close enough that he could see the sabot that once covered the penetrator itself separate and be discarded as the shell tore a path through the air. The mercenary followed the path of the KEP round as it slammed into the buildings that the other two rounds had pulverised. As the impact of the shell created a burst of flame, he realised exactly what they were.

_Depleted uranium… Pyrophoric depleted uranium tank shells!_ The impact of a depleted uranium shell would cause the KEP rod to disintegrate into dust, the Soldier knew. That uranium dust was pyrophoric, igniting into flames with simple contact to oxygen in the air in a hypergolic reaction. He turned back to the approaching tank, identifying it immediately. _A British Challenger 2, with the extra reactive armour panelling, with a Rheinmetall L55 smoothbore cannon and a mottled grey city camouflage paint job. Bastard wasn't kidding when he said he knew some guys with serious firepower. _

The Challenger 2 ground to a halt barely twenty metres from the Soldier as Berserker leapt into the air and attempted to breach it with her spear. She landed past the main cannon and on its right, but in front of the turret, slamming her spear into the space between the turret and main chassis. The attack had little effect, the turret swinging the L55 cannon around to force her off the body of the tank. The behemoth simply flipped over the cannon with ease and attempted another attack.

The mercenary, watching on in amazement at the tenacity of Berserker's attack on the Challenger 2, knew what was coming next now that Berserker was on the left side of the L55. _That thing is fucked now._

Berserker found herself in much the same position as she was before, but now there was a multi-barrelled armament sprouting from the armour beside main cannon. The gun, while small in comparison to the main L55, was a large L94A1 coaxial chain gun, and it began to spin up the moment Berserker landed in front of it. Barely raising her shield before her in time, the L94A1 opened fire with 7.62 x 51mm rifle rounds. The bullets hit into the Servant's shield with such force it forced her to fall back off the tank altogether, landing hard on the ground with her shield still held before her.

As the behemoth landed before the Challenger 2, one of two top hatches opened to reveal a familiar of Assassin's, face covered with a facemask and wrap-around anti-flash sunglasses, that took up the L37A2 mounted machinegun and also opened fire onto the downed Servant. The tank engine revved up, threatening to advance and crush Berserker before she rose from the ground behind her shield and swiftly moved back in the face of such overwhelming firepower. Despite the volume of rifle rounds that pounded the Servant's shield, it held fast, reducing the bullets to crumpled scraps of metal.

During Berserker's onslaught against the tank, both the Soldier and Assassin himself had been able to reach their feet, the Soldier bringing up his MP5Ks and Assassin having the audacity to move to one side of the street and sit on the edge of the crevice he fell into, enjoying the sheer chaos he had wrought.

"Assassin!" Cobb yelled, still pinned beneath the Master of Berserker only now using his arms to hold off a sword that threatened to skewer him. "What the hell is going on? What are you doing?" Kinjo used the chance to take a look at the armoured weapon of death that had rolled into the battle. A wicked smile splattered across his face.

Berserker kept her backward momentum, the Soldier opening fire on her from the side with both sub-machineguns. She avoided being hit by taking a backward leap and hastening her retreat. For a split second the Soldier caught a glimpse of her face behind the shield. It was completely wild; her vicious teeth bared and ground together, eyes wide and crazed.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Assassin cried over the din of the automatic fire. "I am winning this Holy Grail War of course!" The Servant clumsily stood, still in some manner of pain, and held his arms wide before graciously bowing.

Cobb stole a glance quickly at the onslaught that Berserker faced, wondering why the tank had simply not accelerated right over the behemoth, crushing her, as she retreated from it. It was then he noticed that the main cannon was slowly moving upwards, tracking her movement away from the Challenger 2.

_It's not going to…_

Then, as if on cue to James Cobb's realisation of what was going to happen, the Rheinmetall L55 smoothebore main cannon let loose a KEP shell. The barrel shrunk into the turret as the round fired, the blast deafening. The KEP's sabot quickly tore off the main penetrator rod, exposing the depleted uranium round within. It flew straight at Berserker, too fast for her to dodge at this range, colliding with her shield. It's tip fractured in the roughly hewn wooden shield and pierced it partially before disintegrating to dust that quickly ignited in the atmosphere. The flames billowed around Berserker, enveloping her, burning through her shield.

"MY QUEEN!" Kinjo bellowed, witnessing the entire cannon fire. The Coaxial gun ran out of ammo from within the tank, another gunner familiar rushing to reload. The top mounted machinegun also ran dry, the familiar firing it ducking into the turret and closing the hatch behind him.

The billowing flames around Berserker calmed, smoke dissipating, leaving a partially on fire Berserker standing perfectly still as her shield bore a gaping hole and continued to burn. Slowly, her grip on it loosened and it fell to the ground with a clatter on the asphalt of the road. Small flames licked around her, as she looked at the Challenger 2 with mouth agape, completely shell-shocked.

It was then that Assassin began his applause.

* * *

><p>Leviathan stood atop his chosen perch on the office building looking at the chaos below. Saviour had also been watching, entranced by the results of his Master's gift to the struggling Assassin, but confused by the exact motives behind such a gesture.<p>

The fallen angel turned to Leviathan expectantly. The Prince of Hell noticed the movement of his Servant and slowly turned to him. Saviour was taken aback. Leviathan's face was one of pure contentment, a soft smile spread across his thin lips.

"M-Master?" Saviour blurted out, unsure what to say. Leviathan looked back down at the scene playing out below, like a puppeteer enjoying his own handiwork as he pulled the strings in whatever way he saw fit.

"Now isn't this much more interesting, Saviour?" Leviathan spoke softly, keeping his eyes on the mayhem. All Saviour could do was nod in agreement, unsure he shared the same sentiment as his Master and continued to watch along with Leviathan.

_Interesting… huh?_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter down! ^^

This was an interesting chapter to write, and I hope that it raised a few eyebrows.

I hope that Assassin's power satisfies.

Tune in next time! It's going to be one helluva' wild ride!


	25. Argent et le Pouvoir : Final

Chapter 25  
>Argent et le Pouvoir : Course à la Mort<p>

Takeo Kinjo took off as the smoke and flames around his Queen cleared, unabashedly disturbed by what had happened to his Servant. He swept around the Master of Assassin, simply using agility to allow him to move past the businessman unhindered.

_What have they done to you?!_ Kinjo asked himself. It was then that he suddenly halted as his leg was caught on something. He toppled over as whatever had his leg in a vice like grip tugged it from under him, lifting his leg up and over his head flipping the swordsman over and smashing his head into the hard asphalt in the process.

"Uh uh." Cobb twisted the puppet limb that held Kinjo by the leg so that the Master of Berserker faced him. "Can't have you interrupting your own Queen's execution can we?"

Kinjo's rattled brain and the severe pain in his leg didn't stop him from seeing the fear ebb away from within James Cobb's eyes. Grimacing, he wrenched himself around to see Berserker shuffling backwards, defenceless, as the engine of the tank revved.

_I won't let you down my Queen! This plebeian trash will not hold me back!_

Cobb tightened the grip on Kinjo's leg, urging the trapped Master to return his gaze to his captor. Cobb went cold at the expression on his face.

"You will release me now!" Kinjo bellowed, twisting his toned body up and swinging his katana up with him as his stomach crunched. With one swift swipe, the swordsman sliced through the arm that held him aloft. Cobb winced in pain as Kinjo collapsed to the ground on his back and quickly rolling himself over and upright. The arm fell with Kinjo, still clamped to his ankle, but he ignored it and chose to turn from the businessman and run for Berserker. The movement of running tossed the dissected arm aside, Cobb inspecting the bloody stump of his prosthetic.

_The tank can finish off the pair of them then. _The businessman collected the hand and arm that had been sliced off. _Run to your Queen, Master of Berserker. She cannot protect you now. _

* * *

><p>The Soldier of Fortune noticed in his peripheral vision, just as the Challenger II began to roll towards the crippled Berserker, the swift figure of a man bounding at borderline inhuman speeds towards the path of the tank. The mercenary spun around, reloading and raising his MP5Ks to see the Master of Berserker sheath his blade in the scabbard at his waist and taking a flying leap into his own Servant seconds before the Challenger threatened to obliterate her.<p>

The top hatch of the tank opened, the gunner emerging with a new ammo box. He reloaded the machinegun with robotic speed and precision, swiftly turning to face the Master Servant that should be lying to one side of the tank, helpless and ready for execution. All he found was an empty patch of ground. A shadow spilled over the gunner familiar, prompting him to look up in time to be impaled through the eye socket by Kinjo, who had been thrown into the air by Berserker before she used all her strength to run to the back of the tank.

The familiar exploded into silver particles as another gunner within the Challenger pulled out a sidearm and fired at Kinjo who was poised above the open hatch. The Master of Berserker flipped off the tank, dodging the gunfire. The familiar leapt up and closed the hatch, locking it tight.

Behind the tank, Berserker had her back to it's rear, the Soldier of Fortune armed before her. "No games. You die, and you die now." The mercenary spoke fast, pausing for only a split second before squeezing both triggers. As he did so, the behemoth before him disappeared, and he was slammed hard in the left side by something.

"Urgh," The pain of the blow was immense, as if the mercenary was just slammed with a cinder block at high speed. His grip loosened on both MP5Ks he held. He stole a glance to his left, seeing Berserker ducked to his side yet still barely lower than his line of sight and her elbow dug directly into where his left kidney resided. He dropped both sub-machineguns instinctively as his training in Krav Maga overtook his thought patterns.

He used the power of the elbow to his side to twirl around Berserker's extended limb, delivering an upward palm strike to the behemoth's bloody face with his right hand. The intended effect of bury the cartilage of her nose into her brain failed as he found her face as sturdy as concrete, her neck simply snapping backwards and rebounding as if nothing had happened. The Soldier used drew a combat knife from his webbing with his free left hand and attempted to drive it into her left armpit.

Berserker's left arm shot up as if pulled along by pure instinct and batted away the mercenary's knife. She followed through with a hay-maker. The Soldier ducked the wild swing easily, delivering a swift kick to the behemoth's knees to drop her down in size and leverage. Berserker endured the blow without her leg even buckling, despite the fact her legs were riddled with bullet holes and lined with burns.

_I thought she was half dead already!_ _What the fuck is she made of?_

The Soldier used his higher speed to immediately continue his assault, attempting to delver a devastating punch to Berserker's ribs. She caught his fist with her hand, the Soldier aiming directly for her throat with his knife. To his horror, the behemoth before him caught his wrist as the knife just nicked the skin over her jugular vein.

The Soldier's mind froze as he struggled to free himself from Berserker's monstrous strength. His attempts to overpower her failing, the soldier was trapped in a situation he had never been in before. Despite his training, his skills and his experience, he was at the mercy of a being of raw power.

_Christ..._

Berserker tensed for a split second before dragging the Soldier's balled up fist towards her, releasing it as his wrist flew under her arm, then wrapping her own arm around it so her palm was on his elbow. The Soldier's experience, unable to allow him to escape, made him aware of what was about to happen to his arm.

The behemoth snapped her own forearm up sharply, bending the Soldier of Fortune's elbow the wrong way catastrophically. The joint snapped with a sickening sound. The bones didn't break through the skin of the Soldier's arm, but they didn't need to.

All the Soldier could do was issue a blood curling scream as Berserker released his his limp and useless limb before gripping the arm of the Soldier that held the knife even tighter. The tightening moved the mercenary's hand ever so slightly, but enough to dig the blade of his weapon into Berserker's neck. A small line of blood dripped from the tear in her flesh.

The Soldier watched the crimson liquid trail down her neck until it reached the collar of her dress, soaking into the already blood stained fabric. Time itself seemed slowed, but he knew it was just the result of the massive adrenaline surge from both the fight. His eyes met with Berserker's and they were once again at a disturbingly emotionless peace as they normally were. The wrath that had enshrouded her features had been lifted like the outcome of this fight had dawned on her cognitive-deficient brain.

"Finish it..." the beaten Soldier groaned in pain, beyond saving himself. Berserker clearly heard the request, but she acted on her of her own volition by using her now free arm to slam the elbow of the Soldier's other arm, breaking it as it also bent the wrong direction. This time the force of the blow was so powerful, the bones tore through the skin of his arm. After another howl of pain, the Soldier was barely holding onto consciousness again. "You fucking... psychopathic monster!"

Berserker cocked her head ever so slightly to the left before grabbing the Soldier of Fortune from the back of the head and slamming it hard into the back of the tank once. The Soldier was quickly rendered unconscious. The behemoth leaned in close to her victim and heard his continued breathing. She looked at his face to find his nose demolished, blood coating his face like a slick of oil.

She began to slam the mercenary's head against the back of the tank repeatedly, stopping only after repeating the action ten times. She found that his breathing had stopped and his face was unrecognisable. Dropping the limp body of the Soldier of Fortune behind the tank, Berserker continued her retreat from it.

* * *

><p>Takeo Kinjo had once again mounted the Challenger II and was attempting to breach the gunner's hatch when he noticed Berserker in his peripheral vision. She was stumbling away from the back of the tank, the full extent of her wounds starting to sink in now that she had lost the edge of her rage.<p>

Abandoning the impossible task, he swallowed his pride before his enemies and made his mind: He had to flee.

"Shall we, my Queen?" he crowed over the din of the tank revving it's engine once again. The Challenger II began reversing with alarming speed, swivelling turret around so that it could fire on Berserker once again.

Berserker summoned her spear to her hand, the burned out original dissolving as it lay on the ground by the tank as she re-summoned it in pristine condition. Taking a glance behind her to see the accelerating Challenger II approach, Berserker summoned the last dregs of her strength to take off from where she stood, bounding over the trenches that lined the street to reach the next block. She ran past the trench in which her chariot still sat undamaged, touching it with her palm as she went by. It's very form wavered for a second before turning into coiling plant like roots and sinking into the ground.

The tank rolled over the crevices in the road, it's tracks nullifying any obstacle they normally posed. Atop the tank, balancing on the turret that was now aligning itself to fire upon the fleeing Berserker, Kinjo moved as far forward as he could on the turret without reaching the cannon itself.

_Once my Queen is around the corner, we will have to flee._ The Master of Berserker bit into his lip hard enough to draw blood at the thought of having to run from a battle. _Despite my own desires, I only serve my Queen. She cannot lose to the likes of these pathetic fools for the sake of my own pride!_

The L50 cannon aligned itself with Berserker, moving with her figure as she approached the next crevice in the road. As she took a flying leap from one side of the gap in the road to the other, the cannon fired. The depleted uranium KEP blasted through the air and straight under the jumping form of Berserker. The downward angle of the round led it to hit the base of the side of the trench that the Berserker had only just set feet on.

Impacting the already partially disintegrated asphalt with massive force, the KEP round annihilated the area around it, tossing Berserker forward into a clumsy rolling run. For a moment it seemed as if the behemoth had lost consciousness and all control, tumbling forward roughly on the ground with a thick trail of blood being painted behind her, when she put out a hand as she reach the next crevice in the road.

Hitting the ground hard, she threw herself up into the air with a single palm thrust to the ground, landing on her feet on the opposite side of the trench and continuing in her frantic charge. There was only two remaining crevices to traverse before she reached the end of the block.

Still atop the tank, despite the violent shake of the cannon fire, Kinjo could here another round being loaded into the cannon. He looked to his Servant and saw her jump the last trench. To this point, the tank had deliberately remained at a distant enough space from Berserker to fire accurately and safely. However, with the Challenger II's target quickly escaping, the crew of familiars saw fit to accelerate to full speed.

Berserker herself noticed the sped up grinding of the engine behind her as she was halfway to the last trench. All the energy she had left was sent straight to her legs to keep them pumping as hard as possible by her Servant body. She cleared the last trench and came quickly up to the corner of the block. She angled from the middle of the road to the pavement, the tank's turret tracking her all the way. Berserker eyed a lamp post right at the corner of the pavement and stretched out a hand, grasping it and using it to pivot around the block without slowing down. She disappeared from sight of both Kinjo and the tank crew for seconds.

_And now..._

Before the tank reached the corner, the sound of a horses baying and the clatter wood on stone echoed around the corner of the street and piercing the low rumble of the tank's treads and engine. The Challenger just hit the very edge of the block when the source of the sounds could be seen.

_We ride!_

Berserker, behind the reigns of her chariot with two fresh horses to pull it, roared from around the block, passing inches in front of the moving tank. Berserker had to duck as the great cannon of the tank aligned with her head. The round in the chamber of the cannon was unleashed, a KEP round missing the behemoth's head by millimetres. As the cannon fired, Kinjo launched from it's base and landed on the tip as it retracted to absorb recoil. As it extended again, the swordsman was flung from it, landing hard in the back of the chariot as it barely scraped by the ever advancing tank.

The Challenger II overshot the corner, driving into the next block as the chariot kept on down the other street, making good on it's escape. As the tank screeched to halt, the turret spun around to once again face forward. The engine exploding to life again, the tank took off and turned the corner to chase the chariot down the streets of Lyon.

* * *

><p>Assassin watched the Challenger II turn down the street after Berserker and her Master as he took slow casual steps towards the bloodied corpse of the Soldier of Fortune. The mercenary's body had been spared an additional mauling from the treads of the tank by being perfectly between them as the Challenger II passed over it.<p>

The suited Servant reached his fallen comrade and gave him a nudge with one of his dress shoes, turning his head from one side to the other. He cringed as the fallen soldier smeared his shoe with blood.

"So he wasn't actually a familiar?" Cobb approached his Servant from behind, his puppet like arms retracting underneath the tattered back of his suit jacket and dress shirt.

"No, he's very much like me. The very image of a rough and tumble, tough as nails military man!" Assassin spoke jovially, turning to his Master with a wide, toothy grin.

"He was a Servant?" Cobb asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I suppose you could argue that. He's more than a familiar, but not quite a Servant, per se." Assassin rubbed his chin as he spoke, as if he were only just thinking about the Soldier for the first one. "If it helps clear anything up, he's not exactly on the throne. He belongs to me, and me alone." Cobb's eyes narrowed at the hint of venom behind his own Servant's last words.

Assassin's Master looked at the fallen form of the Soldier when something odd about the body dawned on him.

"Why hasn't the body faded away like a normal familiar? Or a Servant, for that matter?" Cobb's question didn't make Assassin pause for even a second, but his reaction was a surprise to the Master.

"Because I haven't let it disappear yet." The suited Servant crouched beside the deceased Soldier, making sure not to stand or kneel in the pool of blood around him. He took out a silken handkerchief and, using it to prevent his hand from being sullied with blood, gripped the mercenary's face and manipulated it, seemingly engrossed with it.

"What are you doing?"

After a moment of silence, Assassin righted himself and tossed the handkerchief away in disgust. He finally turned to his Master, clasping his hands together. "Merely observing our erstwhile opponent's methods and strength. I no longer need him now." The body of the Soldier of Fortune began to dissolve into particles not unlike that of Assassin's familiars, albeit golden in colour instead of silver.

"And you couldn't gather the extent of her power from directly confronting her?" Cobb asked, incredulous. Assassin literally attempted to hand wave the issue, making a flippant gesture at his Master.

"Merely research for what's to come. It applies to me more than you need to know right now." Before Cobb could interrupt his Servant in his meaningless ramblings, he raised his voice over any objections his Master might have. "In any case, all we can do now is wait. I'd wager that even with the Challenger II chasing them, the pair will escape. That chariot is no laughing matter."

Playing along with his Servant, Cobb nodded in agreement. Berserker herself may be in bad way, but Kinjo was still in troublingly good health after all his wounds. Cobb squeezed the severed puppet limb in his hand. He had no way of repairing it while within the Grail War.

"What do you say we adjourn for the night?" Assassin suggested, placing his hands on his pockets and looking as if ready for a leisurely stroll. He meandered past his Master. "It's almost morning, and I'll know what happens with the chase regardless of the outcome."

Without saying a word, James Cobb walked to his Servant's side and the pair made their way down the devastated street, awaiting morning's first light.

* * *

><p>The lead that Berserker's chariot had ahead of the Challenger II was both a boon and a curse. Withering machinegun fire from a fresh gunner kept the chariot from diverting off the street, and a constant, rhythmic pounding of the L50 Rheinmetall cannon threatened to annihilate both Kinjo and his Servant.<p>

"They are gaining on us!" the swordsman roared over the grinding of wooden wheels and clatter of machinegun fire. Another KEP round whizzed past the heads of the Master and Servant pair, colliding with a building before them and sending shards of glass raining down over their war vehicle. "We need to lose this accursed machine in the maze of Lyon."

As if taking into account the suggestion of her Master, Berserker attempted to make a left turn at the next intersection. A suppressive fire from both machineguns of the tank ripped up the street to the left of the chariot, forcing the Servant to pull hard at her horses reigns to scream right across the street. Berserker turned her her bloodied and beaten face to her Master, breathing heavily.

"I see your point, my Queen," acceded Kinjo, a certaion sheepishness in his voice. "Lead on as you see fit." Berserker angled her gaze back to the road before her as cars to the left and right were pelted with gunfire.

It was at that point that the droning of gunfire seemed to weaken, and Berserker craned her neck around to observe the Challenger II that relentlessly pursued them. It had caught up to about eighty metres behind the chariot, and the gunner on top was now reloading the L37A2 as the coaxial gun kept firing.

Berserker turned back to the road, picking up the smaller throwing spears she kept on board the chariot and wrapping the reigns of her horses around one arm. The firing of the the top mounted machinegun restarted along with the resounding boom of the cannon. The KEP round collided with a car to the chariot's right, tearing through it like it was made of tin foil and blasting it to flaming pieces.

Berserker and Kinjo ducked low to avoid the flaming debris. However, the horses pulling the chariot were not so lucky. A flaming piece of what once was the hood of a sedan flew right at the closest horse and decapitated it. As the horse toppled, it immediately began to ebb away before it threatened to get dragged underneath the chariot and get caught in the wheels. However, the chariot instantly lost speed, the tank gaining on it's quarry. The Challenger II was now well within the most accurate ranges of both machineguns.

However, it was just as the ringing in the ears of both Kinjo and Berserker began to fade that the gunfire once again weakened. Instinct taking over, the behemoth noticed an intersection coming up. Gripping the reigns tightly in one hand, she turned and flung a spear at the gunner that protruded from the tank's top hatch. He was still firing, with the coaxial gun now reloading quickly from within. The spear found it's mark, piercing the gunner straight through the head. As his dead hands released the trigger for his gun and begun to fade away, the chariot came up to the intersection. At the same time, a new round was loaded into the cannon.

With both machineguns out of order, Berserker pulled out wide in the street to the left, the spikes on the wheels of her chariot breaching the sides of parked cars. Then, as the cannon tracked her movements to deliver an accurate shot, she swerved to the right in an arc as she entered the intersection. As she crossed over the path of the tank and continued into the right corner of the intersection, cutting into the side-walk, the cannon fired. The KEP round was too short, landing to the side of a parked car to the right of the chariot as it blew past and out of the street. The car near the fired KEP was launched into the path of the tank.

Armoured to withstand other tank shells, the Challenger II was in no real danger from the car. However, landing upside down and directly in front of the tank, the car lodged onto it. Unable to ride over the top of the remains of the car, and treads locking from the driver instinctively braking, the Challenger II overshot the corner and slid diagonally to the left and crashed into the corner building, obliterating a small coffee shop. The car exploded as the leaking fuel of the engine was ignited amongst the sparks of metal on metal within the building, collapsing the roof down onto the top of the tank, trapping it.

* * *

><p>"We made it, my Queen!" crowed Kinjo, shaking with excitement in the carriage of the chariot. "We are home free! We live to fight another day. On that day, we shall triumph!" Berserker shuddered behind the reigns of her chariot, bleeding and full of holes, but clinging to life.<p>

The chariot roared down the streets of Lyon, having escaped death by a gnat's wing.

* * *

><p>"Fuck," Assassin uttered suddenly, pausing mid-step. "Oh, for fuck sake!" He clenched his fists, his knuckles going pure white.<p>

James Cobb merely sighed knowingly and disappointedly, beckoning his Servant to continue walking down the street instead of fuming in place. Assassin stood silently for a second before following the motion of his Master, the pair continuing their walk back to Cobb's apartment.

* * *

><p>"Now wasn't that a spectacle!" Leviathan exclaimed. Saviour was intrigued to hear what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm in his Master's voice. "wouldn't you agree, Saviour?"<p>

The pair had traversed the rooftops behind the chase, coming across the wreckage of the building that collapsed on the tank. However, by the time that the pair had reached the area, the tank was already beginning to fade away. The chariot was long gone, but the echoes of it's wheels on stone could be faintly heard from their rooftop vantage point.

Leviathan's Servant hesitated before answering. "It was indeed something else." He paused again, deciding how best to say what he planned to say next. "If you had not interfered, we would be a step closer to your goal." Leviathan turned from the rubble of the coffee shop to his Servant, a smirk on his face.

"Do you doubt my judgement, perhaps?" Leviathan asked his question cheerfully. Disturbingly so, as far as Saviour was concerned. As his Servant opened his mouth to reply, Leviathan interrupted. "You can be honest with me. I expect it."

Still unsure of his Master's sincerity, Saviour once again hesitated. "I can't say I thought it wise to spare the life of the source of more mana. And to gift them mana to even the odds of their battle? What are you planning?" Leviathan chuckled as if his Servant was spouting nonsense.

"Nothing but my original plans, of course! I am simply..." Leviathan twirled his hand around in the air as he struggle to find the right words to describe his actions. "Enjoying myself as much as possible while I'm at it. Isn't that what most people try to do?"

"But you're not a person, Master." Saviour fired back instinctively, feeling safe in his ability to speak freely before such a figure as his Master. "You're a Prince of Hell itself."

Leviathan tutted at his Servant. "Come now. Am I not allowed to indulge myself in a little frivolity before I open the gates to Hell itself upon this wretched little world?" His smirk spread to show his vicious looking teeth.

Saviour could not think of any way to disagree.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter down, a little later than I'd have hoped thanks to exams, but finally an end to the battle between Assassin and Berserker!

I hope you all enjoyed it! It's been a ripper of a chapter to write.

Things are only going to get more interesting from here.

Tune in next time! ^^


	26. La Valkyrie

Chapter 26  
>La Valkyrie<p>

Lancer stood by the living room window, enjoying the fresh rays of the morning sun, when Saber materialised on the empty couch and made himself at home upon it.

"What has you up so early, lass?" asked the Scottish Servant, stretching out on the empty couch. "And where has our priest disappeared tae?"

Lancer grimaced when addressed as 'lass' again, but she continued to face the window so as to hide the fact. "Chevalier left to get some grocery shopping done. I decided it would be best if someone stood guard while he was out of the house, so I volunteered."

"Hmm..." Saber replied, eyebrows raised. Lancer remained facing the window. Sighing, Saber shuffled around on the couch and sat up straight, resigning himself to the fact that small talk was nigh impossible to force out of his fellow Servant. "We need tae talk about something."

Lancer turned he head to one side, unused to the seriousness in Saber's voice. "We do?"

"Aye," replied Saber before a slight hesitation. "What dae ye think our wee Master's chances are?" Despite the jovial tone of the question, Lancer noted the lack of an accompanying chuckle or scoff.

The golden haired Servant turned her entire body around, crossing her arms. "Chances at what?" Lancer asked a question to which she knew the answer, but she wished to probe Saber's thoughts on the matter first.

"You know what I'm talking about," Saber urged. "Berserker's Master will be a brutal enemy. And we have not even met Assassin's Master yet. This isnae even takin' into account the homunculus. I have faith in the twa' of them, but..."

"But?" Lancer baited again.

Saber scowled at the thought of having to say what he was about to say. "I donnae think they can handle this. The other Masters, maybe. But this Leviathan thing? I donnae know..."

"This is not the time to lose faith in our own Masters, Saber," reprimanded Lancer, shaking her head.

"I'm no' doing that!" Saber blurted out too fast for his own good, defensiveness getting the better of him. Taking a deep breath, he began again. "Look, I trained with the lad all night. All night. He's gettin' good. But..." Once again, Saber trailed off.

Lancer threw up her arms in frustration. "Just what are you trying to say, Saber? Do you have faith in your Master or not?"

"Of course I dae," Saber said, opening his mouth to continue but quickly cutoff.

"Then what is the problem here?" Lancer pressured.

"I donnae want tae send him tae his death, that's what!" Saber's yell was loud as he sprang off of the couch. Lancer's expression remained still in the face of Saber's exasperated outburst. Instead of recoiling, she closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Do you think I want Josephine involved in this any more than you want Torsten involved? Regardless how far this War has degraded into insanity, we can't do anything but continue fighting. If there was a time where we could have all escaped, us to the Throne and Josephine and Torsten to their loved ones, that time is now past." Lancer was blunt, only marginally raising her voice.

"I know we cannae just give up, but what are we tae dae against this Leviathan monstrosity? Dae ye understand what the homunculus is?" Saber's voice was consistently loud now, Lancer grimacing at the thought of either Master awaking to hear or see this.

"I understand exactly what it is and what you're implying. Yes, if it's the homunculus of the Grail War, it will have the mana that should compose the Grail within it, giving it devastating power." The golden haired rattled off the facts matter-of-factly.

"Aye, and it already has a Servant. An extra Servant in the War is bad enough without it being summoned a fucking harbinger of doom!"

"And if both Torsten and Josephine have decided they with to take on death itself, who are we to argue with them?" Lancer began to yell as well, however, Saber went silent for a moment, looking away.

"You're right, it's nae our place tae argue with our Master's wishes," Saber accepted. "That doesnae mean I have tae like it though." The large Scotsman did something similar to what could be considered pouting.

"Indeed. Let that be the end of this then." Lancer turned back to the window, only to stop mid spin on a heel. "What exactly brought this on? This doesn't seem like the actions of one dubbed Guardian of the Kingdom of Scotland."

Saber collapsed back onto the couch, the wood within creaking under the sudden weight. "I donnae rightly know. I think the lad's new 'gung-ho' attitude is startin' tae worry me. That's all. Y'know, I sparred all day and night with him, and he just kept on fighting until I told him tae stop."

"That's a good thing," Lancer said, trying to reassure her fellow Servant. "Why would that be worrying?"

"You know exactly what he was like when we first met."

"Spineless?" Lancer offered, with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

Saber rolled his eyes. "Aye, aye, he was spineless. But now... Now he seems all too ready to toss himself intae danger. The wee git tried to catch my sword mid-swing with his bloody magecraft. He's takin' too many risks." Lancer gave a small but audible chuckle.

"What's so funny?" asked Saber, angrily.

"It's just odd that you seem to prefer Torsten being meek." Lancer stifled her laugh, clearing her throat.

"Och, I dae not," argued Saber.

"Then what exactly is wrong with Torsten showing signs of some confidence now? Of all people, you should be the most enamoured with the progress he has made." Lancer placed a hand on her hip, almost taking on the appearance of her Master while giving a lecture.

Saber shuffled in his seat. "When the lad lacked confidence it made it easier tae protect him. He wouldnae take any risks that I didn't I couldn't control in some way. Now I'm worried he's going tae dae something stupid because he thinks he knows what he's doing."

"And he doesn't know what he's doing?" Lancer asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I donnae know!" Saber threw his arms up. "Whit is this? Twenty bloody Questions?"

"Now, now." Lancer was almost playful as she tried to calm Saber. "I'm just trying to get to the root of your problem. Listen, as far as I see it, your just worried for your Master. He's acquired himself some gusto now. All you can do is teach him how to effectively use it and, most importantly, believe in him. He is your Master, you are his Servant." Saber looked down, going silent.

Lancer turned back to the window for a moment, observing the sun rise in the sky.

_ That Saber is more of a worrier than I gave credit for. _

From behind her, the golden haired Servant heard shuffling on the couch. She turned to find Saber standing and making for the hallway. He stopped when he noticed her turn around.

"Y'know? You should call your Master by her name more often." The Scottish Servant swiftly made his way out of the living room, his feet could soon be heard pounding up the stairs.

Smiling to herself, she replied to thanks she knew were given.

"You're welcome."

* * *

><p>"Get your lazy arses up!" Saber roared as he pounded hard on Torsten's bedroom door. He dared not enter, lest he was accosted by an angry Roux armed with pillows once more. "It's..." He trailed off as he wondered exactly what time it was. "Morning!" And settled on the easiest option.<p>

There came a muffled voice from within the room, but it was noticeably Torsten's. "Holy crap, we're already getting up!" Muffled footsteps and incomprehensible whispering could be heard.

"I havenae got all day, lad!" Saber called back. In reply, the doorknob rattled and turned to reveal a tired and dishevelled looking Torsten. Roux was sitting on the bed behind him, fully clothed, combining a yawn and a stretch into one action.

"What is it?" Torsten muttered. He saw Saber's huge toothy smile and a shiver ran up and down his spine. "What are you planni-"

As Torsten spoke Saber grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out of the bedroom. "I need tae borrow the lad for a bit, lass."

The Master of Saber could do nothing as his Servant made to take him to the loft. "You don't need to drag me!" Saber gave a look to his Master stating that he did.

"Does that mean I can go back to sleep?" Roux called out to Saber as he dragged Torsten away. Saber didn't reply, but Lancer heard the question as she approached the foot of the stairs.

"Not a chance, Master. Don't think for a second that Torsten is the only one needing some training!" Lancer begun to walk up the stairs, her steel boots making a distinctive and deep booming sound on the wood.

"Oh man..." Roux whined, collapsing backwards onto the bed.

* * *

><p>As Saber threw Torsten into the loft with one arm, he materialised his blade in the other. Before his Master could ask what was going on, Saber strode to one side of the room to where Torsten had left his scythe and tossed it to him.<p>

Already surprised by Saber's sudden training session, Torsten was almost impaled by his own weapon as it flew towards him. He barely caught it without injuring himself.

"What the hell has you so desperate to train?" Torsten asked. In reply, Saber launched himself straight at his Master. Torsten leaped to the side avoiding the swing of his Servant's sword by a hair.

Saber laughed as his Master went sprawling over the ground. "The enemy isnae gonna' let you prepare yourself, lad! You're lucky I even bothered to drag you here."

"What the hell," Torsten said as he rose to his feet, taking hold of the scythe with both hands. "Is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Saber quickly attacked once again. This time, Torsten tried to catch the blow with his scythe and hold it long enough to talk. As the sword slammed into his scythe, he was almost knocked off his feet. Sliding a foot backwards to strengthen his leverage, Torsten held the weight of Saber's immense strength for long enough to hear his answer.

"It means, you're lucky I didnae raid your bedroom again, this time, wi' me sword drawn!" The Scottish Servant lifted a massive foot from the ground and kicked Torsten square in the stomach.

The kick, more than just forcing all the air from Torsten's lungs as his diaphragm blanched, sent him falling backwards. He held the scythe out in front of him as he fell, Saber's blade following it's movement downwards. Torsten hit the ground, his scythe the only thing preventing his Servant's weapon from cleaving him in two.

Despite the length of sparring Torsten and Saber did the night before, there were very few situations where Torsten felt afraid for his life. With Saber's sword bearing down upon him, he almost felt like vomiting out of sheer terror.

"This... Is different..." Torsten blurted out, his mind making him say the first thought that crossed it. "Saber, what's going on?"

"Does your wound still hurt?" Saber said, ignoring the question. Keeping his blade on the scythe, restricting his Master's movement, Saber stretched out a leg and sharply kicked Torsten's still tender leg.

Torsten winced, shaking with the pain of the blow, but refused to make a sound other than a small gasp. "I get it... This is a test, right?"

"Y'know," Saber began, lifting his sword at last. Torsten took the opportunity to quickly shuffle on his back away from his Servant and rise to his feet. "You'd be dead by now if I wasnae just sparring wi' ye."

"What's with all the thinly veiled threats?" Torsten asked, his tone demanding. Saber hesitated for a second, looking to Torsten as if he were considering answering the question at all, never mind what his answer would be.

Electing not to answer, Saber lunged at his Master low, unleashing a broad sweep of his sword at Torsten's legs. Torsten clumsily jerked backwards, completely avoiding the attack. However, his back hit something hard. He turned his head to see he had been forced to the wall already.

_Shit. What the hell is wrong with him?_

Saber swept his swing upwards so his sword was now over his own head. The Servant took a large step forwards, tearing his blade downwards towards Torsten. The magus quickly brought forward his scythe, timing his own swing to catch Saber's blade and take it of course. The scythe collided with the blade of the Scottish Servant, Torsten's strength barely enough to divert the course of his own Servant's swing. As the weapons clashed, the magus released a hand from his scythe and projected an exact duplicate in one hand. He unleashed it upon Saber just as his real scythe began to bring Saber's sword down to the ground.

Saber smirked, releasing a hand from his sword. It darted swiftly to the projected scythe now closing in on his side and grabbed the shaft just below the sickle like blade. With one hand less on his sword, it was easy for Torsten tear it off it's collision course with his chest and bring it to the ground. It embedded itself hard into the wood floor, Torsten ensuring it was locked in place with his scythe.

With both of Torsten's weapons unable to be used, and Saber's sword stuck in the ground, the pair stared each other down for the longest ten seconds of their lives.

As the pair bored holes into each other's skulls, all was silent but for Torsten's heavier than usual breathing.

"Already breathing hard? Exhausted?" Saber asked his question bluntly, refusing to take his eyes off his Master's. Torsten held his Master's gaze, refusing to waver, but knew Saber was trying to manipulate him.

_I have no idea what's gotten into him, but I get the feeling he's not going to let me get the upper hand here._ Torsten thought of his options, finding few to none worth attempting if he didn't want another kick to the stomach or worse. His eyes darted to the Saber's massive sword he had locked to one side of him, looking for a way to separate it from it's wielder.

Suddenly, Saber jerked the arm he held Torsten's scythe with, ripping it from his Master's grip. "Never take your eyes off the enemy, lad." The Servant tossed the projected weapon away, it dissolving quickly as it clattered to the floor on the other side of the room. Saber smoothly flowed from throwing the scythe to delivering a withering punch to Torsten's gut. This time, with his back to the wall, all the force behind Saber's attack spread out through Torsten's stomach.

"Ah!" Was all the young Magus could manage before his knees gave way and he dropped to the floor. He never lost grip on his other scythe, but whatever force he had behind it disappeared with his ability to stand on his feet, allowing Saber to dislodge his own blade.

As Torsten gasped for breath, struggling to regain control of his breathing, Saber slowly lowered his sword to his Master's neck, resting it upon his shoulder. "Yer dead."

"What..." Torsten coughed as he tried to speak. "The hell is wrong with you?"

Saber shrugged, even giving his Master a cheeky grin. "Nothin'. I just figured you needed tae feel the cold touch o' death creeping up on you. Fun, eh?"

"Yeah," Torsten groaned, still clutching at his belly with his free hand. "Not really."

"Well, good. I figured you needed a reminder of how little ye really know." Saber retracted his blade, extending a hand instead. Torsten took it, dropping his scythe, his Servant dragging him to his feet.

"And you felt you had to beat that into me? What made you think I needed this anyway?" Torsten asked both question, not expecting a direct reply considering his Servant's propensity to jokes.

Saber turned away before answering, seemingly content with the sparring that amounted to no more than ten minutes and heading for the door. "I cannae let you think protecting the lass will be so easy now, will it?"

"Come on Saber, I'm not in the mood for jokes." Torsten had to drag himself after his Servant, but silently glad the sparring session turned beat down had ended where it had.

The Servant stopped in his tracks. "I wasnae joking." He turned to face his Master. Torsten could only remember one time when he looked as serious as he did when he turned around: when Saber found out just what kind of a Master had summoned him to the Grail War.

"Sorry," Torsten blurted out, unsure of what to say.

"No need tae be sorry, lad," Saber said as he turned back around and kept walking. Torsten followed. "Just take heed of what I said, alright?"

As much as Saber couldn't see his Master behind him, nor did he expect a reply, Torsten nodded.

* * *

><p>"There! Now isn't that much more comfortable?" Lancer stood before her Master, appraising the attire she had personally picked out for her.<p>

Roux shuffled where she stood within the loft, unused to her tank top and jeans. "I guess so? Really, I could handle myself perfectly fine in a blouse and skirt."

"But neither are practical when worn into battle. Considering we are nearing the end of this War, with two Masters and the abomination of a Homunculus to deal with left, we must be as effective as possible in battle. For your own protection, it's best you adjust to this." Lancer spoke with an unusual finality, not willing to concede on this particular sticking point with her Master.

"Well, I can't argue with your reasoning," Roux said. It annoyed her that her Servant was right, but she couldn't help but be relieved that Lancer was being more open and expressing herself. "But, before we begin..."

"Yes?"

"Did you say something to Saber this morning? I don't think Torsten heard it, but Saber was clearly shouting downstairs, then just came up to the room and took Torsten away." Roux had to stifle a giggle as she remembered the look on Torsten's face as he was dragged away. "They spent barely ten minutes actually doing anything up there, and Torsten came back a cripple."

"I may have. You'll have to talk to Saber about what happened, however," Lancer said. She summoned Gungnir to her hand, immediately changing the topic of conversation. "Onto business at hand."

"Right then," Roux said with a small sigh. As Lancer lowered herself and raised her spear, Roux assumed a roughly Aikido like battle stance, opening her hands and raising both before her as she stood side on towards her Servant. "That scythe of Cecile's wasn't exactly easy to counter with what I've learned so far. I honestly can't see facing a spear as being much easier."

"Well, it's far closer to the sword that Berserker's Master will be wielding, isn't it?" Lancer suggested.

"Not really. I _should_ be facing off with Saber," Roux groaned. "But, in his own words, 'I cannae fight the lass! Torsten wid' never forgive meh if I break her!'" She attempted her best impression of the large Scotsman. Lancer could only grimace at the results. "That bad, huh?"

"No comment."

"Fine, shall we?" Roux asked. Lancer gave a small nod in reply. The young magus took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Ready."

With a small nod of acknowledgement, Lancer unleashed herself upon Roux. She began with a horizontal sweep of Gungnir, taking a bounding step forward to ensure the bladed tip of the legendary spear was aligned with her Master's gut. Compared to Lancer's usual speed in battle, she was moving at a snail's pace. However, even limiting herself, Roux found it difficult to twist herself under the spear as it crossed her.

"Good!" Lancer called out, spinning with her sweep and turning back to her Master with a swift thrust. Roux took a step back before the spear reached her, bending over backwards as Gungnir's deadly sharpened head threatened to skewer her. The spear passed over her as she placed a hand below her to prevent herself from falling.

Lancer, while secretly proud of her Master's athleticism, took the chance to teach her a lesson. "Far too risky."

The golden haired Servant took another step forward as she retracted her spear and once again let loose a horizontal sweep. This time, she made sure to make herself too fast for a normal human to dodge, aiming for her Master's legs with the shaft of Gungnir. Her swing was fast but loose, and she only used one arm to soften the blow.

"Shit," Roux grunted as the spear slammed into her leg, toppling her over the spear to one side and onto her face. She knew that if she rose from the position immediately, her back would be to Lancer, and a sharp kick between the shoulder blades would be her reward for such a tactical error. Thinking fast, she kept rolling in the direction the spear toppled her, escape the attack range of Lancer and rolling onto her feet and turning around.

"What did I tell you about trying to be flashy like that?" Lancer said, her tone reprimanding. "It most certainly isn't safe, no matter how effective it may be in that instant. You have to think more practical."

Roux sighed. "I know, it's just the first thing that came to mind." The magus sought to remove her hair from her own face, it covering her face as she spun to meet her Servant, when Lancer began to slowly circle around her Master. Roux had to respond in kind, her footwork slow but deliberate.

"I gave you the hair tie for a reason." Lancer held off as her Master put her hand in her back pocket and retrieved the hair tie. Roux kept her eyes on her opponent as she rapidly tied her hair into a low pony tail. As she finished, not yet completely refocused on the sparring match, Lancer lunged at her.

Holding the base of Gungnir in the palm of one hand and using her other hand to guide the weapon, Lancer made lightning fast thrusts at Roux. The spear moved far too fast for Roux to effectively dodge each thrust, forcing her to back track out of its range proper.

"Good," Lancer called out above the harsh clomps of her armoured boots on the floor of the loft. "But you can't win without assuming the offensive!" Roux danced back from the deadly spear head, taking short and sharp glances at her surroundings to check she didn't get cornered.

_I only need to dodge one thrust, and then I can get close!_ Roux attempted to discern a pattern in her Servant's attacks.

One thrust. Roux took a step back, the spear head ceasing forward motion just before lancing into her shoulder.

A second thrust. The Magus took another step back as the spear head almost impaled her through the stomach.

A third thrust. This attack came out faster than the first two, aiming for the jugular. It came so close to Roux's throat, she could swear she felt the cold emanating off the steel of the spear head. However, it was then that Roux noticed Lancer had taken a large step forward to deliver the third thrust. As it retracted, Roux could see it took longer than usual, with her Servant having to right herself before unleashing another flurry of blows.

_I think…_

Roux held herself back, continuing to observe her Servant cycle through her pattern of attacks. She found that there was no variation.

_... I've found it!_ As Lancer began her pattern for a final time, Roux knew what she had to do.

The first thrust. Roux once again stepped back, avoiding the first attack.

The second thrust. Another step back saved the Magus from harm.

The third thrust. As the spear flew forward, Lancer taking a step to further its reach, Roux stepped into and to the side of its path. Roux's body flew past the deadly head of the spear; her Servant's eyes going wide for a split second before she grinned. Just as Roux came within range to grasp at her Servant's forward arm on the spear, Lancer released her spear. As Gungnir launched from Lancer's hands, Roux was distracted by it flashing past her, taking her eyes away from her opponent.

"Eyes on me!" Lancer cried out as she pulled away from her Master, escaping her grasp. Roux faltered as she failed to grab hold of her Servant, the dull thud of Gungnir lodging itself in the wall behind her not helping her concentration. Lancer took her Master's confusion as an opportunity to drag her back foot forward and up into a high kick. Roux barely blocked the blow, Lancer's armoured boot slamming hard into the Magus's forearms she had crossed to defend her head.

"Ugh," the Magus moaned as her arms felt near breaking point under the weight of the kick, the pain quivering around her entire body. Lancer ducked low, unleashing a sweep with her leg and toppling her Master. Roux fell backwards, about to hit the floor hard, when Lancer spun back around from her sweep and stretched out to catch her Master.

Lancer caught Roux cleanly; her Master's head not touching the ground and her entire body supported by Lancer. "I decided it was best if I don't completely break you." The golden haired Servant smiled at Roux who lay in her arms. Roux refused to lock eyes with her Servant. Lancer helped her beaten Master to her feet.

"What's wrong?" asked Lancer as she strode across the loft to retrieve Gungnir. "You seem distracted. It's not like you to lose your focus when we're sparring." Roux rubbed her face with both hands as if trying to wake herself up.

"Oh, I don't know," Roux said massaging the bridge of her nose. It was the least convincing denial Lancer had ever heard.

The Servant took her Master by the hand and forced her to sit with her, dissolving Gungnir as she herself sat on the wooden loft floor. "I'm going to ask again: what's wrong?"

Josephine Roux sighed, hugging her knees to her chest. "I think I'm just worried about Torsten. He's been through more than I thought he had. His father dying, being thrown out. I don't know how he's coping. I'm worried he's not, quite frankly." Lancer audible groaned at her Master's answer, eliciting a puzzled look from Roux. "Wow, cold-hearted much?"

"It's not that," Lancer said with a smile. "I just think the pair of you are selling Torsten short." Roux looked even more puzzled.

"The 'pair' of us? Who are you talking about?" asked Roux.

Lancer cradled her face in her palm. "I probably shouldn't have said that. Too late now, I guess." The Servant heaved her own sigh before continuing. "This morning, all that shouting you heard was Saber. He was… worried about Torsten getting a big head now that he has some skills. I figured Saber wouldn't want me telling you about this, but I suppose it can't be helped."

"Saber was worried about Torsten?" Roux asked in disbelief.

"Indeed. That is probably why he gave him a bit of the rough treatment." Lancer shook her head, then noticed her Master's glare. "I did not advise him to do what he did. As a matter of fact, I did not tell him much at all."

"Then what _did_ you tell him? Because whatever you told him made him think Torsten needed the shit kicked out of him." Roux sounded angry, but her worried eyes said otherwise.

"I told him to believe in his Master," Lancer said. "Which all I have to say to you. Believe in your partner; your friend." Roux looked at her Servant expectantly. "Well, he's more than I friend, I understand that. All the more reason for you to simply place your trust him."

The magus released her legs and spread out on the floor, closing her eyes. "I can't just not worry about him."

"I didn't tell you not to." Lancer reached out a hand and placed it on her Master's head. "You can worry all you want about him, but you need to trust him at the very same time."

Roux lay silently on the loft floor as Lancer stroked her head. She was shocked that her Servant's touch was so gentle and, much to her embarrassment, it reminded her of her own mother. Roux hadn't seen her mother once within the ten years she was away, and she had yet to meet with her once when she returned. Her father insisted the Grail War should come first. Her chest felt tight as she thought about her mother and father.

_I don't want to be here anymore..._

"Master, what's wrong?"

Roux opened her eyes to find her vision blurry. Through the haze she could see the distraught face of Lancer hanging over her. She felt a small tickle on her cheek and reached for the source of the feeling. She felt cold wetness, and found that she had begun to cry.

"I-I don't know," Roux gasped. "What's come over me?" Lancer, remaining silent, took her Master by the shoulders and lifted her from the ground. Both sitting upright, Lancer wrapped her arms around Roux and hugged her Master tightly. "W-What are you doing?"

For a moment, Roux sat dumbstruck and unsure of what to do. However, in response to her Servant's silence, she returned Lancer's embrace. For a single minute, the pair sat holding each other, both unsure of the exact reason why they felt compelled to do so. Then, moving Roux to arms length, Lancer looked her Master in the eye.

"Be strong." Her words were stern, and her gaze piercing. "For your own sake and Torsten's. Be strong." Roux opened her mouth to speak, tears still slowly rolling down her cheek, before Lancer once again spoke. "I know you don't want to be here, but we're all depending on you, Master."

Roux remained silent, mouth slightly agape.

"You know," Lancer continued, standing while raising Roux with her. "I think Saber and I are both the luckiest and unluckiest Servants in this War."

"Wha-?" Roux finally managed to say. Lancer smirked before explaining herself.

"You and Torsten are naïve, foolish and far too young to have to take on the responsibility of this War. However, I think, you are a pair of Masters worth fighting for." Lancer gave her Master a beaming smile. A smile Roux was amazed her reserved Master could even physically muster.

"So," Lancer said, releasing her Master and placing both hands on hips. "What have we learned today, Master?"

Roux laughed as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "I need to trust Torsten, Ms. Brynhildr." She talked like a small child would to her teacher, exaggerating each syllable and dragging them out.

"Good girl." Lancer gave her Master a final pat on the head. "Just make sure you worry about him a little. He can't do this by himself. He needs you, and you need him. Odin knows you both need Saber and I too."

"Thank you, Lancer," Roux said. "Say, how about we cut this short and grab something to eat? I'm starving."

"If that is what you wish, Master."

The pair made for the loft door, Lancer letting her Master through first. However, just as Roux took a step over the threshold of the room, she stopped. As if her instincts had suddenly activated from a state of dormancy, Roux felt

"Promise me we'll both make it through to the end of this War." Roux was blunt, but Lancer seemed to have expected the request.

"I promise, Master. We will win this War and do what we must to stop that homunculus, and we will do it together."

Giving a satisfied smile to her Servant, Roux turned on the spot and headed down the stairs, leading Lancer on.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

****I haven't done a exposition chapter in a little while, but I think this turned out okay! ^^

I hope you guys enjoyed this one, and there is more on the way.

Tune in next time, folks!


	27. Suggérés

Chapter 27  
>Suggérés<p>

It was late afternoon when Leviathan and Saviour began the elevator ride to the top floor of the apartment building. The ride was awkward for Saviour. His Master, Leviathan, stood by his side looking pleased with what he was about to do, while Saviour found it hard to get comfortable in the clothes that he had taken from the church. The Servant had told his Master he would have no use for the regalia of a priest, but Leviathan had insisted under the pretence of fitting in during daylight hours. If the pair had not abandoned the clerical collars from their outfits, it would be easy to mistake them for travelling missionaries, spreading the word of God.

As the elevator reached halfway up the building, Saviour felt compelled to speak. "This is madness, Master. Why do you insist upon making such a risky move?"

"Nonsense, Saviour," Leviathan scoffed. "I've decided that, if all these Masters and Servants are to die, I may as well try and make the conflict as vivid and lively as possible."

"By directly interfering with a Master and Servant? In broad daylight, no less?" Saviour kept his speech level and controlled, but inside he was ready to scream.

"Indeed." Leviathan thought to leave it at that, but he could not resist the opportunity to probe his Servant's mind. "Are you not satisfied with following my will, Saviour?"

"Of course I am satisfied," the angelic Servant replied tersely. "I just do not see the logic in your actions. What does any of this have to do with opening the Hellmouth?"

At that moment, the elevator reached its destination, announcing so with a loud dinging sound. The doors slid open to reveal an elegantly furnished hallway, lined with multiple doors to the crème de la crème of apartments. Leviathan took a confident stride out of the elevator, Saviour following quickly behind. Instead of directly moving to the apartment they knew their target resided within, Leviathan sighed and turned to his Servant.

"The Hellmouth requires all of the Servants to be defeated. Every single one of them," the homunculus began to explain.

"I know this. I know this, Master," Saviour said through clenched teeth, interrupting Leviathan's explanation. The Master stared at his Servant for the longest time in response, his gaze like ice. Saviour thought it best to hold his tongue.

"No matter how they all die, they will fuel myself and thus the Grail. I think you mistook my earlier stance to stay out of the conflict for a necessity." Leviathan began a slow stride up the hallway. "It was much simpler than that. I merely did not expect our fair Masters and Servants to be so... Intriguing. But now that I know otherwise, why shouldn't I enjoy playing with my toys?"

Saviour stayed silent as he followed his Master to the door at the very end of the hall. However, as Leviathan audaciously made to simply knock upon the door, Saviour stopped his Master, grabbing his arm.

"Yes, Saviour?"

"It seems they finally know we're here," Saviour said.

"Took them long enough, don't you think?" Leviathan said, smirking.

Saviour let go of his Master. "They only know because we entered a detection based Bounded Field as we reached the top floor. You know they can't detect either of us when you saturate the Grail War mana on a whole. It's as if you're everywhere at once to them."

"True," Leviathan conceded, stepping back from the apartment door. "After you." Saviour took his Master's place before the door. Forgoing the courtesy of knocking, the Servant braced himself before unleashing a kick to the door.

* * *

><p>"Who the fuck are they?" James Cobb hissed to his Servant as familiars in tactical gear raced around the room. The familiars were busy setting up Claymore anti-personnel shrapnel mines by the apartment door and positioning themselves around turned over furniture ready to fire upon any intruders.<p>

"I have no idea!" Assassin barked back at his Master, retrieving his phone from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "If they are a Servant and Master, they concealed themselves from me until they entered your Bounded Field. Only I should be able to do that in this War!" Placing the phone to his ear for a second, Assassin shoved it roughly back into his pocket as quickly as he had raised it to his face.

Before him, a figure formed from the ground up. He was a rough, with a shaven head and craggy face. The man was clearly a mercenary of some sort, like Assassin's last, but he was a different man altogether. Assassin saw fit to conduct expedited introductions. "Master, meet the Soldier of Fortune. Soldier of Fortune, meet my Master."

"You can make more than one?" Cobb exclaimed, staring at the newly created pseudo-Servant who promptly took off to coordinate the familiars that were crafting the apartment's defence.

"Yes, it's all very magical," Assassin snidely remarked. "Does it matter? They are just about at the front door now!" Cobb nodded, moving out of the direct line of fire of the door. Assassin followed, leaving combat to his familiars.

Neither Master nor Servant made a sound as the clomping of combat boots slowly stopped, giving way to a silence tense enough to feel like it was strengthening gravity, weighing down upon everyone and everything in the apartment. At the door, the familiars could hear the soft voices of two people just outside the apartment.

For a second, the pair stopped talking. Then, suddenly, the door was blasted off its hinges, tossed into the apartment. It flew horizontally straight for the head of a familiar, the force behind it so strong it broke its neck as it collided with its head. As the familiar collapsed, quickly dissolving, the figure that kicked in the door took a step inside the apartment.

At that time, the Claymores set up by the familiars were set off by the new Soldier of Fortune, who squeezed firmly on the trigger device. The layer of C4 in both devices detonated. Seven hundred miniature ball-bearings violently burst out of each mine, careening through the air towards the man that had just crossed the apartment threshold.

With a small smirk, the man, dressed in the garb of a priest, pulled his upper body down and inwards. A pair of menacing black wings with streaks of gold formed out of, what seemed to be, pure energy on his back. The wings wrapped around his front, covering his entire frame. The hundreds of ball-bearings from the Claymore mines threatened to shred the wavering energy formed appendages that enshrouded the man. As the metallic shrapnel made contact with the man's wings, they disintegrated into nothingness with a loud buzzing sound, as if they were sawn apart.

For a single second, after the ball-bearings failed to make a single scratch on the intruder to James Cobb's apartment, there was a dead silence. The familiars behind their blockades, along with the Soldier of Fortune, stood in awe as the shimmering wings around the man parted just enough for a single eye to peer through at them. Its gaze was unwavering.

The Soldier's already sour face contorted in frustration. "Fire!" the Soldier bellowed as he drew a .50 Desert Eagle from a hip holster. The familiars acted immediately upon his command, unleashing a maelstrom of automatic fire.

The man immediately stitched together the small gap he had opened with his wings, the bullets harmlessly obliterating themselves as they collided with his impenetrable barrier. Noticing the uselessness of the gunfire, the Soldier tossed away his gun upon emptying its clip and tore a fragmentation grenade from his combat webbing. He let it cook for a few seconds while hiding behind an upturned leather couch.

Just before the magazines of the sub-machinegun armed familiars emptied, he rose from cover and flung the grenade before diving back behind the couch. As the grenade arced through the air, the first empty sub-machineguns began to click as their firing pins hit nothing but empty air within their chambers.

The man once again opened his wings a slither to observe his enemies, seeing the grenade flying straight towards him. He reacted swiftly, tearing the left wing open while stretching the right over himself to cover most of his body. The man ducked low, letting the grenade soar above himself until he caught it with the left wing. The wing snapped shut around the grenade as it exploded. The catastrophic crack of the grenade everyone expected never happened, and was replaced by muffled boom that would not have even been heard outside the room. .

As all the gunfire died down, the left wing opened to show no remains of the grenade or the shrapnel that was intended to tear the intruder apart. Using the lull of the familiar's attacks, the man spread both wings wide before they dissolved from his back. In their place, he summoned a short sword to his right hand, not unlike a Roman gladius.

The familiars raced to reload as the man leapt at them, tearing and slashing at them with deadly precision. With a single strike he would fell a single familiar, piercing where their hearts would lie or decapitating them to finish their non-lives efficiently. It was not long before only the intruder and the Soldier of Fortune were left alone among the debris of the fight.

"What in the fuck are you?" the Soldier hissed, attempting a quick-draw of a second Desert Eagle. He let loose a single .50 calibre round as the intruder coiled himself under the bullet's path and flung his body at the mercenary. The Soldier raised his free arm to protect himself, the short sword of the intruder becoming lodged in the bone of the forearm, eliciting a bloodcurdling scream.

It was only then when the second man entered the apartment, taking slow confident strides as he walked quietly with his hands behind his back. Bewildered and in immense pain, the Soldier turned to the new intruder. The new man's eyes were hollow and devoid of life.

_Not... human..._

With a curt nod to the man with his blade stuck fast into the Soldier's arm, the new intruder signalled the end of the mercenary's life. Tearing the sword down and out of the Soldier's arm, the angelic intruder's blade swung down into its victim's chest. It broke through ribs, tearing through the heart and lungs, leaving the Soldier to fall where he stood into a thickening pool of his own blood.

"Shall we introduce ourselves to our hosts then, Saviour?" Leviathan asked as he strode past his Servant, moving down a hall branching from the entranceway and living room. Saviour followed, dematerialising his blade.

The pair found it easy to locate the other Master and his Servant, the doppelgangers staying out of the fray in Cobb's bedroom down the hall. As Leviathan appeared in the doorway of Cobb's bedroom, the Magus inside unleashed his puppet limbs, ready for a fight despite the dread upon his face. Assassin pulled his pen knife from his suit jacket, looking equally unprepared for a fight.

"Now, now," Leviathan said, attempting what he considered a reassuring tone. It came out much more menacing than intended, but the homunculus did not seem concerned. Saviour appeared behind his Master, Assassin's jaw dropping at the sight of him.

"What is this?" the Servant murmured.

Leviathan raised both hands, motioning for the pair of them to calm down. "Compose yourse-"

"No, what the fuck _is_ this?" Assassin screeched above the intruding Master, his ability to perceive Servants and Master becoming effective. "Why do you have a Servant? What the hell is a Saviour?"

Cobb turned to his own Servant. "What? The second one is a Servant?" Assassin did not look to his Master, but the look on his face was enough for the businessman magus.

"I said," Leviathan said softly. "Compose yourselves. Do you not wish to speak to the one who gave you the gift of life with your fight with those foul beasts?"

"What did you say?" Cobb said, turning back the interlopers to his apartment.

Leviathan smiled a sick smile with his thin lips, Saviour standing guard behind him, as the foundations of the Holy Grail War came crashing down around James Cobb and Assassin.

* * *

><p>"So, you really think this is a good idea?" asked Torsten as he followed Jo up the stairs.<p>

"Sure do." Her blunt reply didn't seem to alleviate Torsten's fears, Jo felt, judging from his derisive 'hmph'. "Listen; Saber and Lancer are good to fight for a challenge, sure. But you need to take on someone closer to your level so you don't get your butt kicked."

"That makes sense," Torsten conceded as Jo reached the top of the stairs, immediately heading for the loft door. "But I think I'd gain a bit more endurance that way. No to mention work on my reaction times."

"Yes, but you're on the constant defence with them. As much as you may find an opening and attack..." Roux paused as she opened the loft door and let Torsten in first. "It's hard to truly learn how to attack an enemy when you aren't the one instigating said attack."

"Simply put," she said with a sigh, feeling the need to summarise. "We're launching an offensive on a tough Master and Servant pair. It's imperative you know how to actually conduct yourself when on the offensive. Understand?"

"Yeah, I get that." Torsten moaned. "What I don't get is why that's ended in me sparring with _you_."

Roux raised an eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean, dear Torsten?" The smile on her lips seemed decidedly insincere.

"Well, you don't use a sword, do you? Berserker's Master clearly wielded a blade," Torsten said with shrug. "I should really be sparring with Chevalier or something, shouldn't I?"

Jo chuckled. "You think fighting Chevalier would be any different from fighting Saber or Lancer? A sword he may use and a human he may be, but he is something else when it comes to combat. I don't think he would spar with you even if you asked him. "

"You have a point," conceded Torsten. "I guess that means its unarmed combat?"

Roux just smirked. "Pick up your scythe, Torsten."

"I'm not fighting you with the scythe while you're unarmed. No way. Not to make myself sound even half decent at fighting with that thing, but I'll do something stupid and end up hurting you." Torsten crossed his arms.

"Relax," Roux said softly, holding out her right hand. In it, much to the surprise of Torsten, she projected an ornate rapier. The metal of the blade was pristine, flowing elegantly from the tip of the weapon to an Italian style swept back hilt formed of sculpted metal in an organic pattern. The hilt itself shone gold, with the blade itself shining silver as a balance. "I won't be unarmed."

For a moment, Torsten stood slack jawed and stared at the weapon. "Wait," he finally managed to say. "You know how to use one of those? Since when?"

"Projection is pretty useless. You know that." Torsten grimaced, knowing how right she was. Roux continued. "I've never been particularly apt at it myself. But, this flawed replica of my own blade shall suffice for a simple sparring match."

"Yeah, okay, I get that. But why not bring your own sword? Why do you even have a sword in the first place?"

Jo looked Torsten dead in the eyes. "I have one because my mother taught me the fundamentals of swordplay before I left for the US." At the mention of Jo's mother, Torsten's thoughts drifted to the Roux family.

Xavier Roux. The head of the Roux household and current holder of the Roux family crest. A cold man, from what little contact Torsten had ever had with him. With long blonde hair, slicked back and tied into a neat ponytail and always dressed in some style of formal suit, he emanated a distinct aura of power. It was clear that Josephine had inherited his blue eyes.

Aurore Roux. The wife of Xavier, and mother of Josephine. Torsten had seen little of the mother of his childhood friend, and did not meet her until he was already well acquainted with Jo herself. However, when he finally met Aurore, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. That said, Aurore Roux, despite one of the most seemingly polite and gentle people he had ever met never said a single word to him.

Jo's voice brought Torsten's mind back to her. "I didn't bring it with me because I haven't been home yet."

"What?" asked Torsten. "Really? From the US to Europe and you headed straight into the Grail War?" Jo gave a solemn nod in reply.

"Well, I can't say that doesn't make me feel a little better about you defaulting to 'hate on Torsten' mode when we met up again." His joke did as intended and lightened the mood, Jo giggling a little.

"I told you that was me just being stupid," Jo insisted while taking a practiced stance with her rapier. She held it firmly in one hand, standing side on to Torsten. "Well? Are we going to do this thing or not?"

"As long as you're okay with it," Torsten said with a sigh, taking up his scythe he had left up in the loft earlier. He stood across from Jo and took a deep breath for giving her a quick nod. For a moment the pair squared off in total silence.

Jo noticed the most miniscule of increase in Torsten's muscle tension before he launched himself at her, stepping in and making a large horizontal sweep with the scythe. Compared to her earlier match with Lancer, Jo found Torsten's movements almost as if he was moving through treacle; sluggish and unwieldy. She elected not to immediately punish the mistake, easily bending under the attack and batting the scythe away with her rapier.

Torsten took a back-step, coiling his leg as they hit the floor behind him and used them to launch himself into a swifter, more fluid attack. This time, the swipe was too low for Jo to simply duck but also too high for her to jump. As such, she twirled back just out of the scythe's range. When she completed a full rotation, Torsten was too far into the swinging motion to block any counter-attack. She brought her sword around and made as swift a thrust as she could directly at Torsten's face.

He tried to voice his dismay, but the words caught in his throat. Torsten craned his neck and upper body back to avoid the rapier's deadly piercing tip. Just as the blade passed over his cheek, Torsten felt its cold touch. As it was retracted, his cheek immediately warmed as the fresh cut began to bleed. Using all his upper body strength to stay standing, Torsten took two erratic steps back from Jo before being able to right himself.

"Yeesh." He took a hand from his scythe and placed it to his bloody cheek. It wasn't bleeding profusely, but the cut was surprisingly deep. The blade of Jo's rapier was clearly edged if it sliced his cheek as it did. "So you don't use an Estoc, huh?"

"I'm surprised you know what that means," Jo fired back playfully, regaining her own stance.

Torsten grimaced. "I'm not that stupid. I've dabbled in swordplay myself. I can't say I'm as good as you are though."

"You seem pretty handy with that scythe, considering you've only had it a few days." She shrugged. "In any case, you need to work on following through. You can make a clean strike when you put your mind to it and that's good. However, you need to keep up the flow of battle in your favour. Unleash a single strike…" Jo trailed off as she shot towards Torsten and made quick swipe.

"Wha-" Torsten choked out before stopping the blow. Jo let her sword bounce off the scythe and ducked low into a second attack. She made a thrust for his stomach. Torsten moved to the side clumsily, avoiding the blow but putting himself off balance.

"Then follow up as soon as possible." Jo moved away and retook her stance, this time with a cheeky smile on her face. "Get the idea?"

"I know that much," Torsten groaned. "I think my problem is that the scythe is too heavy for that sort of thing."

"Then get creative," Jo said with a wink. Before Torsten could even begin to wonder what that was for, she spoke again. "Come on! Haven't got all day here. Bring it!"

Torsten gave his opponent a dubious look before settling himself to charge again. This time, he changed the grip on his scythe, moving one hand up the shaft of the deadly weapon to further increase his swing speed. He made his third attack, this time fast enough to give only the smallest of margins with which to block.

Jo was able to lock the scythe in place with her rapier by slamming it hard into the corner between its blade and the shaft. For a second the pair stood with their weapons locked, Jo slowly losing in the battle of strength if only because she wielded her weapon with a single hand as opposed to Torsten's scythe which required both.

"Now what?" she managed to ask, gritting her teeth as she barely held the scythe at bay.

"It's time to get creative." Torsten tore a hand from his scythe, Jo immediately equalling him in strength and threatening to deflect the scythe entirely. However, she knew exactly what Torsten planned to do.

He formed a duplicate of his scythe in his free hand, and quickly swung it at Jo from the side. Much to her surprise, the swing was lightning fast and threatened to bifurcate her at the waist. She ducked low, releasing her rapier from the real scythe and dropping straight to the ground. The projected scythe sliced through the air above her head before promptly dissipating at the will of Torsten.

Jo rolled back and away from him, but by then he had already placed both hands back onto the real scythe. He gripped it low on the shaft, lifted it high above his head and then brought it down hard to the ground. She swept out her sword, knocking the scythe to one side. Its deadly point became nothing but a hindrance as it plunged into the wood of the loft floor and stuck fast.

"Shit," Torsten cursed as he made a single tug to free it. It wobbled, but Jo was too fast to allow for another attempt. She threw herself at Torsten, knocking him onto his back. His head slammed hard into the floor, blurring his vision, as he felt something heavy land on his stomach and the cold, hard touch of steel press into his neck.

Before Torsten saw Jo straddling him, her rapier to his neck, he heard her speak through heavy breathing. "Gotcha."

"Okay, I give! I give!" Torsten said as he raised his hands beside his head like a caught criminal. As his vision returned, with Jo so close, he could not help but become fixated on her new attire.

When he had first seen her in her tank-top and jeans, he had almost mistaken her for someone else. Even when she was a young child, Torsten had never seen her in anything but a dress of some description, and wearing her long auburn hair loose around her shoulders. With her dressed so pragmatically, a ponytail hanging down from her shoulder and starting to sweat through her top, he was pleasantly taken aback.

She dissolved her rapier after a few seconds of silence, hoping the reality that he would have been killed had sunk in. However, considering the dumbstruck smirk on his face, she feared his thoughts had strayed elsewhere. "Ahem? I'd hope you'd be a little more concerned considering you're 'dead'!"

"Oh. Ah, yeah. I need to keep upping my game," Torsten murmured, sounding distant. The weight of Jo on his stomach and the feel of her thighs on his sides were incredibly distracting. As his eyes wandered to her legs, both still wrapped around him, he had to be brought back to planet Earth by a literal knock on the head.

"Earth to Torsten." She rapped gently on his forehead with her knuckles. "Just what are you thinking?" Her tone was playful and telling.

"Just that you look really good in that," Torsten said bluntly, motioning with his head to her. Despite her already flushed face, Torsten could swear that Jo's cheeks became an even rosier red.

Her eyes fluttered in surprise at the compliment. "Uh, well, Lancer said it's more practical in a fight." She placed a hand on her ponytail and stroked it. "She also said my hair would just get in the way, too."

"Well, I think that it – you..." He hesitated for half a second, during which time he noticed Jo began to lean in closer. "Look really... beautiful." Torsten raised himself as far as he could with Jo on his stomach.

Jo stopped just before her face met his and murmured gently. "Thanks, Torsten." Torsten quickly closed the distance entirely, their lips coming together in a kiss. He ran a hand up Jo's leg while she wrapped her arms around him to pull him closer.

Their kiss was just as passionate as their first embrace as lovers, but there was something far more primal behind their lust for each other this time. Neither were sure what it was; the adrenaline of their sparring, the need for a release of stress from recent events or simply the growth of their own love for each other. Regardless, the pair did not pause to ask why and simply did as their bodies urged them to.

It was Jo who finally decided to bring the couple back to reality. "This little sparring session sure has gone off the rails, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. You could say that," agreed Torsten. There was silence for a moment where both of the pair stared at each other. Both were ready to go further, but both hesitated.

"You know," Jo suddenly blurted out. "Anybody could just walk in right now." She gave a small nervous laugh.

"You're right," conceded Torsten. "I guess we need to concentrate on the task at hand anyway."

Jo made a small affirmative sound and rolled off of Torsten, letting him stand. As Jo herself stood, she pulled up the bottom of her tank top to dry off the sweat from her face, revealing her toned stomach.

_I'm an idiot_, Torsten thought to himself, ogling Jo.

"I'll go grab you a towel, okay?" he said, walking past Jo to get to the door. Just as he passed her, she pulled her top from her face to reveal she was smiling wide.

"Much appreciated!"

Torsten gave her a nod as he walked past, quickly heading out the loft door. Jo couldn't help but notice the extra spring in his step as he bounded down the stairs.

* * *

><p>Among the wreckage of James Cobb's apartment, he and Assassin sat on a ruined couch across from the Master and Servant who shouldn't have existed. After receiving a call from the superintendent of the building due to a noise complaint and eliminating the problem with an extra ten thousand dollar addition to his next rent payment, Leviathan explained his identity as the homunculus of the Grail War and the identity of his Servant. Cobb and Assassin had sat in relative silence throughout Leviathan's tale, both taking in the information but unsure what to do with it.<p>

"And, that is that," Leviathan said with a small nod as if reassuring himself he had explained everything that he wished the Master and Servant to know.

"And what makes you think we should believe anything of what you told us?" Cobb immediately asked, incredulous. As much as the man who called himself Leviathan knew things about Assassin and himself that he should have no way of knowing, Cobb could not help but need more proof.

Leviathan gave a small motion of his head in the direction of Assassin. "He knows what I've said is true. Ask him instead." Cobb looked expectantly at his Servant, who sighed and stood from the couch to pace back and forth.

"You know I can identify a Servant by observing either the Master of the Servant themselves," Assassin began to explain. "It happens the moment I see either the Master _or_ the Servant. However, this time, it didn't work when I saw Leviathan. I had to see his Servant."

"It's more than simple magecraft obfuscating my power. I can't read anything when I look at him." Assassin gave Leviathan a glance to find him bemused by the Servant's efforts. "But when I saw his Servant... He is indeed classified as 'Saviour', and Leviathan told the truth about his identity too; the Archangel Michael himself sits across from you, Master."

Cobb collapsed back into the couch. "And you honestly gave Assassin a gift of mana to stave off Berserker?" Leviathan gave a small nod. "Why?"

"Of all people you have met in this War – which I betting is everyone, given your Servant's power – do you not feel that Takeo Kinjo and Berserker are the least deserving of victory? Do you not wish to attain the Grail for yourself?" Leviathan answered Cobb's questions with his own questions.

"What are you implying? You're helping Assassin and I win the Grail War when you yourself are a Master?" Cobb fired back, used to dealing with mind games thanks to Assassin.

"Actually, no." Leviathan replied bluntly.

"No?" Assassin cut in.

"Indeed. I had no real intention to help the pair of you and I still do not. All I want is to make this War a little more intriguing, considering the end of it means my own death." Both Assassin and Cobb gave Leviathan the exact same look of sheer confusion.

"Then why are you even here?" Assassin asked, almost shouting. Cobb gave his Servant a look, which he ignored. Saviour tensed as if he were about to leap from the couch when Leviathan held out a hand, stopping his Servant dead.

"I'm here to give this War a little shot in the arm. Takeo Kinjo and Berserker are weak. I want you to kill them." The homunculus looked Cobb dead in the eye as he spoke. The Master of Assassin felt like he was being issued an order.

"For your entertainment? And why should we do that?" Cobb asked, standing with his Servant in defiance of the intruders.

"Because it's the most logical move for you to make at this point and it would be interesting to see the pen knife best the spear." Leviathan's answer was met with another stunned silence. "You need more than that? I'm afraid that's all the reasoning I have."

"Do you really think that we'll just do as we're told?" Cobb said through gritted teeth, knowing he was backed into a corner. Assassin was no match for Saviour, and the businessman Magus could tell that this Leviathan was far more powerful than he seemed. The confidence in his voice, the relaxation despite in the company of foes and the sheer audacity to raid enemy territory for a sit down made one thing clear about the homunculus to Cobb: its power was most definitely greater than his own.

Leviathan shrugged at the question. "I am no reader of minds, Master of Assassin. I cannot tell if, deep down, by suggestion has reached you. But, time will tell." Leviathan suddenly rose from the couch, Saviour swiftly following his Master.

"Wait!" Cobb called, following Leviathan as he and his Servant made for the door of the apartment. Saviour spun around and slammed the Master hard in the belly. It was hard enough to force all air out of his lungs. The Master collapsed to his knees and threw up the contents of his stomach all over the floor.

As Leviathan stepped over the threshold of the apartment, he called out. "I look forward to your next move, Master of Assassin. Don't disappoint me!"

Cobb watched the homunculus and his Servant walk away. As the pair entered the elevator down the hall and Cobb heard the doors close, he turned to Assassin while wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief. "Thank you for the help, Assassin."

The Servant's expression immediately soured. "Don't give me that bullshit. You were a fool for trying to even approach them."

"Silence you fucking insolent dolt!" Cobb screamed at the top of his lungs. Assassin's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. "We have to work out what we're going to do."

* * *

><p>"Do you think they will go through with it?" Saviour asked as the elevator reached the bottom floor of the building.<p>

The doors opened, but Leviathan stood in reflection. "While it does not exactly matter what path they take, I think they will do what I wish them to do and not what I merely willed them to do."

"And what does that mean, Master?"

"It means that the pair of Masters that believe unity will save them are the players in my little game." Leviathan sneered as he left the apartment building with his Servant in tow. "And the first move against is most likely going to occur this very night."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

And another chapter down! I hope you guys all enjoyed it, as per usual.

Unfortunately, a busy real-life may slow progress of some future chapters, but I'll strive to deliver them as regularly as I can. ^^

Tune in next time, because things are going to get heated once again!


	28. Attaque Brusquée : Part 1

Chapter 28  
>Attaque Brusquée : Premier Mouvement<p>

"The pair o' ye have been up there all night," Saber casually remarked as Torsten collapsed flat on his back on the living room floor, exhausted. "You actually get anywhere up there?" Saber had a spark of mischief in his eye that his Master deciphered immediately.

Before bothering himself to answer, Torsten craned his neck around to look at the wall clock. It was already after 11pm. "As a matter of fact, I did, Saber. We only stopped after I was able to beat her once." He saw no reason to satiate his Servant's desire for his Master's embarrassment.

"And how many times did the lovely lass best ye then?" Saber asked his question gruffly, his annoyance that his earlier bait was not taken clear. Torsten remained silent. "Come now! Ye can talk tae your uncle Saber. How many times did she hand ye your own arse?"

"I think it was seventeen," Josephine Roux said as she strode into the room, holding a plate on which rested a bacon and egg sandwich. She took a bite before sitting down in her usual chair and licking her fingers. "But, to be honest, I lost count."

"Now, now," Chevalier said as he followed Roux into the room. "Now is not the time to give Torsten any trouble. He beat Josephine fair and square and rather decisively I might add." He gave Torsten an approving nod, giving the young magus enough energy to sit up on the floor.

Saber gave the priest a suspicious look. "So you got tae see him actually take her down? How did ye achieve that feat? I thought we were told tae give the lovebirds some private time so they could skive off and focus on other pursuits."

"Ha Ha, Saber. He came up to check on us even though we told him not to. We was just worried about us considering we spent hours up there without coming down," Torsten explained. It didn't satisfy Saber, who decided to be obedient considering the beating he gave his Master earlier in the day. It was just then, however, that Torsten noticed someone was missing. "Where's Lancer?"

"I fing she said sumfing about mayging tea," Roux forced through a mouthful of her sandwich.

"You can finish eating before speaking, Josephine," Chevalier said, phrasing it as a polite reminder.

"Sowwee," Roux was able to manage once more before swallowing. "But social etiquette can be damned when I'm this hungry and exhausted. Anyway, Lancer wanted to make herself some tea." She wolfed down the remainder of her sandwich just as Lancer entered the room.

She approached her Master's chair, holding a cup and saucer in her hands, just as Roux was getting up to dispose of her plate. "So how did you best my Master in the end?" The golden haired Servant directed her question to Torsten. Roux gave her seat to her Servant as she left the room.

"I ended up resorting to using Räumlich Einsturz." Torsten gave Saber a look.

"Oh, so ye did whit ye tried tae dae tae me then, eh?" Saber sounded impressed, but his expression quickly gave way to confusion. "Wait, what did ye use it on?"

"My Master knows the way of the sword quite well," Lancer said, sipping on her tea. "It was optimum for Torsten to face someone who used a sword, so I suppose she used Projection, correct?" Torsten nodded.

"I see," Saber murmured. "Ye 'resorted' tae it did ya?"

The young magus shuffled in place. "I didn't want to use it when I could have hit Roux." There was a collective silence for a moment that Torsten felt he was expected to fill. "We were just sparring, alright?"

"All the more reason you should have used it sooner," Roux chided. "I was expecting it at the very least. There's no room for you to hesitate on the battlefield." Both Saber and Lancer gave a nod in agreement. Chevalier made a murky expression as if he were conflicted.

"Just because I wouldn't want to use it on Jo doesn't mean I wouldn't use it on the enemy." Torsten's entire demeanour fell as he spoke, his voice becoming grim. "I can use it when the time comes." For a moment, the young magus' right hand felt warm. It was the same washing warmth that he felt when Adelheid Rotmensen's blood had coated his arm. He tried to ignore the feeling, clenching his fingers into a fist tight enough to whiten his knuckles to force it to fade away.

* * *

><p>"So it's come to this, has it?" Assassin asked his Master. He sat in the passenger seat of Cobb's Jaguar XK. The pair had sat in a decidedly venomous silence in the luxury car, driving to the destination of their target in the middle of a cold Lyon night. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"<p>

Cobb groaned. "We went over this. The homunculus was trying to play us. He was trying to use us as meat-shields against Berserker. That's the best case scenario."

"I know we went over it. I'm just not certain I can trust your judgement on this. It seems to simple a play for that _thing_ to make." Assassin motioned for Cobb to pullover as he spoke, knowing they had reached their destination. The pair had come to a halt in a residential area. It was dead at by this time, with very few lights remained lit from within the windows of the houses that lined the street. As the pair got out of the car, the Servant continued his doubts. "But what really gets me is that he..." Assassin wondered how to continue.

Cobb, surprised at his Servants sudden decision to take a serious edge, baited him. "That he...?"

"You felt it, right? Ignoring his Servant, he had an air of power that went beyond his permeation of the mana within the War. He had the kind of aura that only something that could end the world in an instant could possess. But he also seemed, well, weak." Assassin looked his Master dead in the eye. Cobb recognised the expression, considering they shared the same face; his Servant was worried on a level he had never seen.

"Weak? What do you mean?" Cobb asked. Urgency tainted his speech.

"He did absolutely nothing. Only his Servant acted. His Servant is an almighty one, but there was something off about his behaviour. Not once did he prove his own power; power he should have as not only a Master, but the Grail's vessel. He's already shown that he could manipulate Servant mana by giving some to me. Why didn't he show he could annihilate us both? Why did only Saviour attack?" Assassin spoke fast, thoughts he had been considering for hours pouring out like a tightened valve between his brain and mouth being completely removed.

Cobb thought back to the attack on his apartment. He found his Servant had a point. "This is bad," he suddenly said. "His manipulation is more than just for the sport he seems to revel in watching. Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

"I needed to think on it. It's not something I could just blurt out without mulling over." Assassin leaned against the Jaguar, pulling out his phone.

"So you left it to now to tell me all this?" Cobb began to yell, throwing his arms up. The businessman let out a small grumbling sound to vent his anger. Assassin was silent, for once understanding of his Master's annoyance.

For a time, the pair remained in that silence. Cobb reflected on the plan; who he was to kill tonight and who he was to spare for the time being. The enigma of the homunculus weighed upon his decision even more than it did before.

_So, Assassin thinks he's weak. He wants us to take down Berserker. Surely, if anything, it means he really wants us to take down Berserker and that psycho of a Master of hers. But, what if Assassin is wrong? No... I can't think like that. As much as he grates on me, I should trust him. But if he really does want Berserker taken down, is that such a bad thing? _

Cobb made a fist and hit it against his forehead.

_No. I can't fall for something so transparent. If that thing really wants us to take down Berserker, even if it's for more than its entertainment, I cannot call into this trap._

"We'll continue with the plan," the businessman decreed.

"Are you sure? Once I make this call, there's no going back." Assassin dangled the phone out in front of himself like it was bait.

Without hesitation, Cobb answered: "Do it."

For a split second, Assassin paused and raised the phone halfway to his head. Nearby, he thought he felt something: a presence. He knew what it would be. Or, more accurately, who it would be. However, he decided it was best to simply ignore them. No matter what choice they made, Assassin was sure the pair of them would be watching with anticipation.

_I hope they enjoy the show, _the Servant thought to himself, placing the phone to his ear.

* * *

><p>Leviathan, perched upon a rooftop, let out a laugh. "I think the Servant actually noticed us for a second, Saviour."<p>

"Do you think that will be a problem?" Saviour asked, prepared to unleash himself upon both Assassin and his Master.

Leviathan chuckled and shook his head in reply. "Oh, no. They don't seem to care. Or they are trying to simply wish the pair of us away, perhaps. It doesn't really matter considering they're doing exactly as I'd hoped they would."

"I still think it was wrong to make direct contact with them needlessly." Saviour spoke freely, unwilling to let his Master play games with him.

"I know that full well." Leviathan's jovial mood soured at the words of his Servant. "But don't you find it the least bit intriguing that an ultimatum with two choices has brought these two to their knees, so to speak?"

"I can't deny it is interesting to see them squirm. Why they think that confronting the other Masters is the only choice, I don't quite comprehend however," Saviour admitted, musing to his Master.

"It's simple. Appeal to fear and you can force anyone's hand. I made them fear for their lives, so they imposed my ultimatum upon themselves. I gave them a single option of attacking Berserker. They looked for the quickest alternative, which is exactly the opposite. That is how they cornered themselves into their current situation," explained Leviathan, watching as the silhouette of a tank formed by the parked car of Assassin's Master. "But now it seems that the stage is set, the actors prepared to perform. Shall we move to a location with a better view of the carnage, Saviour?"

* * *

><p>"So hunting down Berserker is still on the agenda?" Chevalier asked the two Masters as they prepared themselves for a night on Lyon's streets. Torsten had simply changed into a fresh set of clothes, putting a shirt on over his tee to keep out the cold. However, Roux had opted to simply pick out one of Torsten's jackets and wear it over her training clothes. Saber and Lancer had dematerialised until they were needed.<p>

"Yup." Torsten made his way to the stairs from the living room, intent on collecting his scythe. "She's the biggest risk to use right now. As a team, we should be able to take her and her Master." Before Chevalier could reply, the young Magus had left the room and his footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

Roux suspected she knew what the priest was about to say and cut in. "You don't need to worry about us. For once, we're completely prepared. You just need to hold the fort until we get back."

"I could actually help you with your fight, you know. You need only but ask and I'll join you," Chevalier offered.

"Well... I can't say I expected the offer," Roux admitted. "But it's best you stay out of this for as long as possible. The Church would have your head if you joined the War proper, even considering the circumstances. We can manage without you." She shot him a cheeky smile.

Chevalier's telling smirk told Roux he expected that answer. "I just thought I would make it clear I'm with you all the way. If you wish to do this by yourselves, I won't stand in your way. It's best if you don't let my situation cloud your decisions, however. I've known the pair of you before your first birthdays; my allegiance to you is far more important than that of the Church."

"It's hard to believe you've known us that long, huh?" Roux mused. "But I don't think either of us would want you in danger for our own sakes."

Chevalier let out a laugh. "It may not be up to you in the end. I won't be letting either of you fall. Not when I failed to hold back that homunculus and let all this happen."

"None of this is your fault. None of it." Roux snapped at the priest, her anger genuine. "Don't do what Torsten does and burden yourself with guilt you have no ownership of." Chevalier fell silent.

The pair waited in silence for Torsten to return with his scythe when Lancer screamed into her Master's ear, materialising as she did so. "Behind me, Master!" Lancer grabbed Roux by the shoulders and threw her roughly behind her and across the room. The magus hit the couch so hard she flipped over it and landed behind it. "Stay do-"

Lancer never finished her order before a large 'thwump' sounded from outside, followed almost instantly by a deafening roar as a KEP tank shell blasted into the living room of Torsten's house, tearing through the entire building and setting fires as it disintegrated on its way out of the other side of the room.

The shell missed all of the occupants of the room, but that meant little as the room slowly succumbed to the flames that had saturated it. Chevalier had been knocked clear off his feet into a wall, but scrambled to find Roux in the smoke that was starting to bear down on the three from the roof. Lancer, who had been able to avoid any sort of injury from the sudden attack, grabbed Chevalier by the shoulder. "Get out of here! I'll take care of my Master!"

"Are you sure?" the priest yelled over the crackling flames. A flaming piece of the room's ceiling, destabilised by the jarring impact of the shell, fell to the ground between the two.

"Just get out of here!" Lancer cried, Chevalier nodding and making an escape from the living room.

Lancer turned to where she had tossed her Master. Roux was alive, clambering to her feet behind the now overturned couch. The golden haired Servant leapt to her Master's side, giving her a shoulder to lean on. Roux pushed her away while trying to speak through a smoke induced coughing fit. "I'm... fine. We need to..."

A second 'thwump' sounded, followed by the catastrophic cacophony of projectile impact. However, the second shell did not rocket through the living room. Instead, Lancer and Roux distinctly heard it collide with the house above their heads.

Roux's eyes went wide with fear. "Oh God, Torsten!"

* * *

><p>Up in Torsten's loft, Saber had materialised himself at the same time as Lancer had, wrapping his huge body around his Master and diving down to the floor just as the first shell fired. When the house rocked on its foundations in time with the ear-splitting sound of shell impact, the pair had slammed hard to the ground with Saber taking all the force.<p>

"You alright, lad?" he roared as he flung himself and Torsten up from the ground.

"What in the hell was that?!" Torsten yelled as he tried to regain his balance. He ran to far end of the loft to peer out the small window that was situated on the front side of the house. What he saw stole the colour from his face. Outside, barrelling down the street towards his house was a tank, flanked by a horde of fully armed familiars. "How the hell so they have a tank?"

The cannon on the front of the war-machine was smoking from a recent shell shot, and as the tank made its way ever forward and closer to Torsten's front doorstep, the turret began to change angle. Torsten tore himself from the window to go and retrieve the scythe he had dropped when he was crash tackled by his own Servant.

"A tank?" Saber said gruffly, not fully comprehending what his Master meant. The Servant strode past his Master to the window and took a look for himself. "That thing attacked the house?" By this point, the tank's cannon was level with the upper floor of Torsten's house. Both Master and Servant could look straight down mighty gun to see the darkness deep within it.

"Shit..." Torsten breathed. Grabbing Saber's arm, he turned and jumped away from the window, his Servant following. The pair had jumped just as the cannon fired, the KEP shell blasting through the wall they had just been standing against. The high angle of the shot meant the shell careened skyward and burst through the roof. The thin front wall of the loft and the flimsy roof were not enough to entirely disintegrate it.

For a single second after the shot, Torsten could only hearing a high pitched squeal in his ears and a low rumble from the approaching tank. He dragged himself to his feet along with Saber as another very distinct sound became known to him. The creaking of the wood in the roof started low and rose to mighty splintering crackling as it began to simply cave in on the pair.

"Run!" Saber bellowed, making for the door and grabbing Torsten by the shirt. The roof began falling in, the fractured beams and wood nipping at both their heels as they charged for the door. Saber threw Torsten through the door before diving through it himself. They both crashed hard into the wood flooring outside the demolished loft just as the doorway was obliterated by debris from the roof. Fortunately, the sheer volume of tiling and wood created a bottleneck in the remains of the doorway and prevented much of it from spilling out over Saber or Torsten.

"That first shot went straight through the lower floors, lad," Saber groaned as he rose to his feet. Giving Torsten a hand up, the Servant summoned his sword into his free hand. He noticed the smoke billowing up the stairway and the flickering orange light that followed it. "It's probably gonna' get messy."

Torsten made a grim expression. "Messy seems to be how anything in this War turns out." He took off down the stairs. "C'mon! We need to make sure Jo is alright down there!"

"Right behind ye, lad!" Saber roared, plunging down the stairs after his Master.

* * *

><p>"Torsten! You're okay!" Roux yelled through the din of the burning house. She saw Torsten and Saber barrelling down the stairs at full speed just as she managed to escape the smoke filled living-room. Lancer heaved her own sigh of relief to see both of them safe.<p>

Chevalier was waiting near the front door, motioning for all of them to hurry themselves. "You're all fine, but we need to get out of here without getting torn to shreds!" He looked at the front door.

"There's going to be at least a hundred guns pointed at that door right now," Torsten explained. "It's Assassin. He has a tank."

Roux literally went slack jawed, leaving Lancer to make decisions for her Master. "We can't just leave through the front door! They'll annihilate all of us."

"This is exactly what they wanted." Saber slammed a fist hard against a wall. "We're already stuck in their little trap. The only way out is tae play right into their hands." Saber's armoured materialised in a brilliant flash of light. He took a single step towards the door when, above the sound of Torsten's disintegrating house, an amplified voice could be heard.

"Come out with your hands up," the voice called out from outside over some form of loudspeaker. "And I promise to make your executions swift and painless." All present recognised the voice.

"It's definitely Assassin," Torsten said, Roux nodding grimly.

"You mean, James Cobb? Master of Assassin, right?" Chevalier said, confused. Before anyone could answer him, Assassin's voice sounded out once again.

"You have until the count of ten or I take down the entire building. If that happens, you all know that it will be simple enough to murder all four of you even if you survive the initial volley." The Servant began to laugh as he spoke. He seemed to let the amplifier stay on for a short time after he spoke for them to absorb his cackling.

"There's got to be a back way out of here!" Roux said.

"Ten!" Assassin cried.

Torsten thought for a moment, ignoring Roux.

"Nine..."

"Well?" Roux said, shaking Torsten by the shoulders.

"Eiiiiiiiight!"

"He said there are only four of us in here," Torsten began thinking out loud.

"Seven."

Torsten snapped his fingers. "He doesn't know about you!" He pointed at Chevalier.

"Six."

"Ah!" the priest exclaimed. "I know what you're thinking."

"Five!"

"Can you do it? There are a lot of the familiars out there. The armed ones too, not just bruisers like at the church." As Torsten talked over his last second plan with Chevalier, those present started to catch on.

"Four."

"This is risky, Torsten." Roux tugged at his sleeve.

"Three."

"It's all we can do to gain an upper-hand," Torsten argued. Both Lancer and Saber nodded in agreement.

"Two. Tick-tock, tick-tock!"

Torsten moved to the front door, his face slick with sweat from the heat of the flames in the living room that was only a wall away. Roux, Lancer and Saber followed while Chevalier moved out of the way, beyond sight of the doorway.

"God speed," Chevalier murmured, christening the group as Torsten wrapped his hand around the front doorknob.

"One." Assassin's final countdown reminder was thick with venom.

* * *

><p>"Wait!" shouted a voice from behind the front door that both the tank and familiars had their guns trained on. Assassin was poised within the top hatch of the Challenger II, a radio connected to the tank's external sound system in his hand.<p>

Cobb stood to one side of the tank, flanked by another Soldier of Fortune and a multitude of black clad SWAT-style familiars.

"Don't shoot, we're coming out peacefully," the voiced cried as the door was slowly opened by the foot of the yelling young man behind it. As the door swung completely outward, Torsten Amsel took a single step out of his burning home, scythe held upside down in his left hand with the blade point back, away from his enemies.

"Good." Assassin made a motion to the crew down below in the tank. It was then that the flood lights at the front of the Challenger II burst into radiant life, blinding Torsten as he took a second stumbling step. "Keep coming. All of you, out. Now."

Roux followed Torsten, unarmed, holding her arms to her face to shield her eyes from the light. Saber and Lancer came quickly after their Masters. Saber had dematerialised his blade and Lancer had yet to materialise hers in the first place. Both refused to raise their hands, opting to stand in front of their Masters as human shields.

Assassin scoffed at the gesture, making sure it was heard clearly over the radio. "Such posturing now will do none of you any good."

"They're identical..." Roux hissed to Torsten in hushed tones. "Which one is the Servant?"

"It has to be the one in the tank, right?" Torsten proposed.

A familiar let loose a single round upon receiving the mental command to do so, hitting the ground near Torsten's foot. "No talking." Assassin glanced at his Master to find him looking on at the Servants and Masters before him with a certain air of disgust.

_Assassin is crueller than I thought if he wants to line them up and murder them execution style._ Cobb grimaced at the very idea, but knew that how an Assassin class would best operate themself. _An assassin indeed._

An ear splitting crack rang out down the street as windows of Torsten's burning house shattered from the intense heat of the flames within.

Familiars that lined the side of the tank, and some that were off to the farther flanks of Torsten's house, moved in around the four captives. Their sub-machineguns were raised and ready to fire. It was only once the group had been completely blocked from escape, their backs to a burning death-trap, that the Soldier of Fortune pulled a large Smith & Wesson 500 from a hip holster and approached Saber and Torsten.

Saber moved between the mercenary and his own Master, eyeing him down. The Servant noticed that the figure before him had his finger already firmly wrapped around the trigger of the massive revolver by his side.

"Move out the way, Saber." Torsten voice was weak and shaky. "It's over." The Scottish Servant hesitated for a second before standing aside.

"Now, for wasting ten seconds of my time, both Saber and Lancer can watch their Masters die before their very eyes." Assassin's joyful voiced put all present on edge, his Master and the Soldier included. "I had planned to be merciful and kill you all at once, but time is precious when time is money."

Torsten gave a quick glance to Roux. She tried hard not to look worried, despite the slapdash plan they had put together. It didn't work.

"Nothing personal, kid," the Soldier said, forcing Torsten to his knees with one hand. The lack of emotion in both is voice and face made his declaration hard to believe. He raised his revolver to Torsten's head, placing the end of the barrel right between the young magus' eyes.

Torsten squeezed his eyes shut. _C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!_

As the Soldier's finger squeezed on the S&W 500's trigger there was a shining sliver of light that rocketed through the air from above everyone on the street. The mystery object caught the Soldier's eye. It soared high into the air before inexplicably instantly turning downwards at a right angle towards him.

"Wha-" the Soldier managed to say, raising his revolver from Torsten's head to object now plunging through the air in his direction. He let loose a single, ear-splitting shot from his gun before one of Chevalier's Black Keys bored its way into his neck. As it went straight through, severing his windpipe and spine, he let out a choking scream that only resulted in a sickening gargle.

"What in the hell?" Assassin said, still talking over the radio. Cobb took a step back, his cadre of familiars surrounding him to act as human shields.

With a scream, Torsten leapt to his feet and grabbed the falling body of the Soldier and held it out in front of himself. "Jo, get over here!"

A second metallic blur shot through the air, soaring high before plunging down into a familiar that was surrounding the captive Servants and Masters. As Saber and Lancer both summoned their weapons and the familiars surrounding them began to open fire, a maelstrom of Black Keys flew from Torsten's home. Some blasted through the open front door, while others tore through the already broken living room windows.

The Keys ripped through the air in awkward patterns, flying in straight lines until hitting what seemed like an invisible barrier and turning instantly on a right angle towards a target. The volume of the Keys was immense, but it seemed that there was one for each single familiar. Most of the flying blades found their mark in the familiar's head, piercing their combat helmets as if they posed no protection at all.

The familiars tried in vain to fire at the oncoming projectiles only at the cost of their ammunition before their inevitable deaths. In the confusion, Roux ran to Torsten's side with little trouble. "I thought he was actually going to jump out of the house!"

"Same here, but this works all the same," Torsten grunted as he held the Soldier's large body over himself and Roux as shield for any stray bullets. He began to drag it out of the direct line of fire as at least one sub-machinegun round found it's mark in the Soldier's back. "We need to get away from the familiars and draw the Master away from here!"

* * *

><p>Assassin watched the chaos unfold before him, clenching his teeth so hard that he was beginning to give himself a migraine. The cadre of familiars surrounding his Master stayed by his side, keeping out of the fight for the sake of defence.<p>

"Now what, Assassin?" Cobb asked, his voice piercing the sporadic gunfire before him. "Now what?" He gave his Servant a cold stare.

"Tch." Assassin ducked into the Challenger II and closed the top hatch behind him.

"Stupid son of a bitch," Cobb cursed under his breath.

Without warning, the tank let loose another KEP round directly into the mayhem. Both Saber and Lancer leapt out of the way, while Torsten and Roux were blown to the side of the fray as the shell rocketed through a familiar and into the house and delivered to it a final catastrophic blow. As the round erupted into flames, the top floor of the house began to cave in on the bottom with an achingly loud groan of wood and sharp splitting of brick.

"Chevalier!" Torsten yelled, wrestling the dead body of the Soldier off him. Just as the building seemed like it was about completely sink into itself, the figure of a man in the garb of a priest burst from the front door, leaping high with two blades in hand.

Guillaume Chevalier soared through the air above the immediate chaos at the front door before directing himself enough to land right on top of one of Cobb's bodyguards. The familiar was rent asunder by one Black Key the priest held, while he swept out the second to cut the arms off another that threatened to fire.

"Who in the hell…?!" Cobb exclaimed, his puppet limbs burst from the back of his suit immediately to combat him. One of the arms was still without a hand thanks to Takeo Kinjo's blade.

Chevalier jumped back from the magus, appraising his opponent with an analytical gaze borne of combat experience beyond his years. "The Masters can take care of you." He turned and ran into the fray before Torsten's house, directing his blades on the familiars that remained after his rain of Black Keys.

It was then that Saber and Lancer made their move on the tank, both jumping onto it as it tried to reverse away from them. Lancer and Saber both attempted to breach the hatch with their weapons to no avail, leading the tank to take off down the street and carry both of them away from the mayhem.

Lancer looked back to her Master, finding both Torsten and Roux running to confront Assassin's Master and his bodyguards. "Are you sure it's okay we leave them?"

"Of course! They can handle that ponce easy enough," Saber roared, trying to prise the tank's hatch open with his sword, using it like a crowbar. "We need tae get this thing out o' the way so they can work!"

* * *

><p>As the tank rumbled away from the familiars and James Cobb, both Torsten and Roux fought their way through the remaining familiars towards them. Both could see the arms that had burst from his back.<p>

"He's definitely the Master," Roux said, delivering a neck breaking kick to a familiar and finishing it instantly. "Someone has given him some extra limbs. That'll be the key to his style."

Torsten let loose a maximum range sweep of his scythe, low, catching two of the SWAT-clad men by the ankles and dissecting their feet from their bodies. They feel to the ground in a heap, with Torsten finishing both off with a projected knife to the back of the head. Chevalier, fighting just a few metres away, made sure to capture the attention of as many familiars as possible, drawing their fire so both Masters could advance.

The pair passed the priest as he deflected a bullet that would have crossed them. "I can hold them all. You two just concentrate on killing him." Torsten gave him a nod as he ran past. Just like the fight at the church, Chevalier had changed personalities on a dime. As jarring as it was, however, it was exactly what they needed to survive.

It was only a second later when they had gotten close enough to Cobb that his remaining five SWAT familiars that were acting as personal bodyguards opened fire. Torsten and Roux split from each other, drawing the fire of two familiars each, with the fifth holding firm by Cobb's side.

Torsten stumbled around as he tried to dodge a hail of bullets, taking a hand from his scythe, producing a copy and hurling it at one of the familiars. The projected weapon's aim was true, embedding itself in the chest and bulletproof armour of the familiar before both burst into nothingness. However, as Torsten made to lunge at the remaining bodyguard that faced him, a single round from the familiar's gun bored into his right arm. It tore through his limb, missing the bone, and burst from the other side in a small misty haze of blood.

Gritting his teeth, he endured the pain long enough to raise his injured arm, scythe in hand, and bring it crashing down on the familiar. It pierced the very top of the SWAT-clad familiar's helmet with the very tip of the scythe's blade, sliding sickly into its head and ending its non-life instantly. As the scythe fell, Torsten's knees buckled from the ensuing pain that surged through him like a burning wave, washing through every inch of his body.

Roux, on the other hand, charged straight at both familiars. She opened both of her eyes as much as she could, her left eye slowly changing from its piercing blue to a fiery yellow. As it did so, the familiar she had set her eyes on began to violently shake, dropping his weapon and doubling over on the ground. The second familiar hesitated for a second before continuing his storm of bullets. As soon as the first felled familiar stopped writhing, Roux turned her attention to the second. Upon her gaze meeting its form, the familiar repeated the pained actions of its brethren.

Seeing the larger part of his bodyguards fall, Cobb stood back and watched what the final familiar would do by itself. It focused in on Torsten, still on his knees and holding his injured arm. It swift raised its sub-machinegun and unleashed a precise burst, banking on accuracy rather than a carpet of bullets. Torsten rolled out of the way and onto his feet just in time to see Roux appear behind the familiar, her left eye a vivid yellow.

_The Mystic Eyes of Electrification, _Torsten pondered in awe as the familiar buckled and shook as electrical current swept through its body and disabled its heart and manipulated its muscles. Within less than a second it was on the ground, quivering, before it dissolved away. The other familiars that had crossed Roux had met the same fate. _She has them after all!_

"So at least one of you has some modicum of skill," Cobb said, sounding unimpressed. "But the fact you haven't already used that Mystic Eye of yours on me implies you may not be up to the task." He turned to Torsten for a second. "And I'm betting you can no longer fight with that arm."

Challenge Cobb's derisive comments, Torsten got to his feet and took his scythe in two hands. "Try me."

"No, Torsten," Roux said, moving to stand between them. "This one is mine and mine alone." Cobb raised an eyebrow.

"What? Why? I can fight! Isn't this what we've been training for?" Torsten stepped forward to pass Roux only to be met by an outstretched arm that stopped his advance. She turned to him, her left eye still aglow, radiating power as it burned away in her skull.

"This is not an enemy you can fight effectively - With or without me by your side." Despite the unsettling nature of her Mystic Eye, her voice alone carried the pain she felt in demanding Torsten to stay out of the fight.

"Are we done?" Cobb asked, impatient. His extra limbs stretched out and undulated as if agitated by the wait. "If you're trying to appear pathetic, you're both doing fantastic jobs."

Ignoring the enemy, Torsten and Roux continued their conversation. "I don't understand!"

"Torsten!" Roux shouted. He went silent instantly. "Trust me. You'll see why it has to be me and me alone in this fight."

Torsten sighed. "Can you do it?"

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" Roux asked, with a grin. Torsten stepped back, Roux once again focusing on Cobb. "My name is Josephine Roux, Master of Lancer and heir to the Roux house of Magi. I shall be your opponent today."

"Torsten Amsel, Master of Saber," Torsten added.

"James Cobb, the Master of this War's Assassin." He shifted his weight to his back most foot, ready to charge. However, he had the urge to further probe his opponent's mentality. "Making this a one-on-one fight is rather presumptuous, wouldn't you say?"

"Who said this fight would be one-on-one?" Roux quipped, her left eye returning to its usual blue while her right began to turn a deep violet. The colouration of her eye was like a pinwheel, starting from the bottom as if it poured like a liquid dye from her pupil before sweeping around her iris clockwise.

Cobb scowled. "Two different Mystic Eyes? How is that even possible?"

"Drastic magical surgery and ten years worth of training makes it possible," Roux said, her right iris now filled with the solid purple aura. Her combined blue and purple gaze was mesmerising, but Cobb he could feel no pain. However, he felt a sudden but brief disconnection from his body like one would experience in a third-person perspective dream. "Tell me, James Cobb, are you ready to face an army of me?"

In Cobb's peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of two figures slowly advancing on him. He jumped back, trying to bring both into view, only to find that they were exact duplicates of Josephine Roux. His first reaction was to cover he face, averting his eyes from Roux's gaze.

"Uh, uh, uh!" one of the Josephine copies said. Cobb could tell who spoke from the direction of the voice.

"It's too late now," the other copy taunted.

The original Josephine Roux made a smirk that Cobb couldn't see. "You're trapped with me, myself and I."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I hope you liked this one. I'm actually quite pleased with it myself. ^^

Work has became a bit of a slow-down to writing, but I shall persevere!

Tune in next time for more action!


	29. Attaque Brusquée : Part 2

Chapter 29  
>Attaque Brusquée : Yeux Mystiques<p>

The two copies of Josephine Roux walked to each side of the original. All three of the identical bodies stood and waited for the businessman before them to realise that averting his gaze was for naught. It took only a few tense seconds before he finally turned to the multiplied young woman.

His eyes narrowed, as if in an attempt to see through his opponent's trickery. "A mere illusion?" The expression on Roux's face only became more evident of her self-assuredness. "No, this is something more."

Roux gave no word in reply to Cobb, instead opting to turn to Torsten. "I need you to see this."

Torsten saw her violet right eye for first time. As Roux's gaze rested on him, Torsten felt as if something pushed his very consciousness out of his body for a split second before it was sucked back in. As he came to his senses again, the forms of two exact duplicates of Roux stood on either side of the original. Both had brilliant purple right eyes and had turned to face him.

"What's going on?" Torsten took a step back.

"It's alright," the most left Roux said with a gentle and calm voice; his Roux's voice.

"But seeing us will help you understand why you need to stay out of this," the Roux to the right added, her voice as equally soothing. "Even if it does double the mana strain."

All three young women turned away from Torsten and focused on multiple-limbed Master of Assassin. The original decided to speak. "Now, I'm ready if you are."

Taking into account the new threat of a multiplied opponent, he decided to goad an attack rather than run into a loaded fight. He shifted himself so that he was now ready to take any attack from those before him. Spreading out all his arms, they provided a solid defence from directly in front of him.

"Surprise!" called a familiar voice from behind Cobb. He flung himself around to come face to face with a fourth copy of his opponent. He immediately shot out a clawed limb only for the fourth Josephine Roux to bend under it and move out of range. Behind him, the sound of footwork on asphalt sounded out as the original Roux and the copies charged at him.

Cobb flipped to be side on to both parties of combatants just in time for the original trio to unleash themselves upon him. One swept in low to attack Cobb's legs. A puppet limb launched at her, forcing her to roll out of the way and let through the next in the line of assailants. This time, she aimed high and for his face. Another limb shot out, the attacking Roux barely dodging it. The fourth Roux that had ambushed Cobb from behind leapt into the fray once more. Like the attackers before her, she was forced to dodge a vicious swing of another clawed arm.

_Any more of them and this might get out of hand,_ Cobb thought as he tried to perceive all the Rouxs surrounding him. As the last one attacked, he diverted all effort into taking it down. _I have to make sure I thin them out._

Cobb sped up enough that she could not dodge the blow. All four of his limbs pierced Josephine Roux through the stomach. However, where there should have been resistance as the piercing blades on each hand tore through her innards, Cobb felt nothing. Instead, the figure of Josephine Roux burst into nothingness.

The rest of the Rouxs all paused, each of them just out of Cobb's reach. They all watched as one of their number exploded into nothingness and Cobb smiled upon coming to a realisation.

"You almost had me fooled, Josephine Roux. But it seems your Eye really does nothing but create mere shadows of the original." Cobb retook a defensive stance.

"I think you've neglected to think this through," one Roux began. As she spoke, all of the copies started a slow circle around the businessman.

"Even if we are all illusions," another Roux continued. Cobb spun in the direction of the voice to find more copies standing outside the ring, soon joining into, and compounding his building confusion.

_She can make even more?!_

"How exactly do you intend to find the real me..." a soft voice whispered into Cobb's ear, making him freeze. The form of Roux had formed right behind him. "When I could be any one of them?"

* * *

><p>"Holy shit." Torsten watched in awe as James Cobb was surrounded and attacked by ever multiplying copies of his ally and friend. "She could do something like <em>this<em>?"

"Yes."

Torsten spun around to face the source of the answer to his question. Behind him stood Chevalier, Black Keys in hand. Beyond the priest lay nothing but the ruins of Torsten's home, the plethora of Assassin's familiars eliminated entirely. "Ten years training constantly to hone both her natural talents and a gift from an unknown benefactor has produced something of a marvel in Josephine." Both Black Key's blades shattered, the priest tossing the used hilts aside.

Chevalier strode to Torsten's side and gave a small motion with his arm telling the young Magus to keep his eyes on the battle playing out before him. Torsten, however, had questions. "You knew about all of this?"

"She didn't want me to tell you. Not that I would be inclined to unless you asked about it specifically, but she made a point in asking me not to tell you." The priest was his usual, calmer self once again, Torsten noticed. "Chances are it's to do with the fact her right eye is no longer her own, but that is only a guess."

Keeping his eyes on Cobb and the many Rouxs encircling him, Torsten continued his questioning. "No longer her own? You mean it's the 'gift' you mentioned?"

"Again, yes," Chavelier answered. His voice turned grim. "'The Mystic Eyes of Illusion'. Tell me, Torsten, do you know the story behind the Roux's family trait?"

"Of course. The Mystic Eyes of Electrification run in the Roux family, but often skip a generation or two in the process. Xavier Roux has them, but..." He trailed off for a second as he tapped his memory. "But I remember Jo's eye glowing yellow a single time when we were children. She found a rat or something on her family's grounds and killed it just by looking at it. We were only young then, perhaps nine years old, so it scared her. So much so that she was reduced to tears and ran to her father. I never remembered it quite clearly, but I had my suspicions about it."

Chevalier chuckled at Torsten's bout of reverie. His light heartedness quickly gave way to a coldness Torsten found strange. "She only has a single Mystic eye of Electrification, just her left eye. Xavier Roux saw fit to remedy this weakness and found a suitable donor for a second Mystic Eye." He took his eyes away from the duel before him and laid their gaze on Torsten. "That is why she left to the United States. She was sent there to undergo the implantation of a second Mystic eye and train in the use of it with its original master. And, before you ask, I do not know who it was."

For a time, the pair watched Cobb struggle with the many copies of Roux in silence. Chevalier had not been placed under the spell of the Mystic Eye of Illusion, but he could see Cobb struggle against what looked liked invisible enemies, and the real Josephine Roux charging in where possible to deliver precise surgical blows while the multi-limbed magus was flustered and otherwise distracted. The look on both Magi's faces exemplified the strain of such a fight: Roux's Eye consumed copious mana and Cobb was struggling to keep up with the clone's onslaught without succumbing to a real deathblow.

"Was it consensual?" Torsten asked out of the blue, breaking the silence between the two observers. Chevalier had expected the question after he explained Roux's circumstances.

"I do not know." His blunt answer only let the worst possible scenario Torsten could imagine form within his mind. Images of his friend, his lover, forced into some kind of sick Magi experiment began to form in his mind. While there was no proof that anything as sordid as that may have happened, just the thought itself turned Torsten's stomach. However, the priest was not finished. "Maybe, regardless of whether she accepted the Eye willingly or not, she's ashamed of it. Ashamed that it would be something about her that changed her from that girl you used to know."

"That's..." Torsten began, finishing the thought within his head. _Something she would do to herself..._ He felt his fists clenching tight. Tight enough that both hands ached when he let the tension go.

"I think," Chevalier continued. "That showing you her Eye now is rather a big step for her. It seems like a simple thing, a mere facet of her prowess as a Magus, but it represents a lot more."

Torsten thought for a second and came up with nothing. "Like what?"

"Like a physical representation of the time she was forced to travel thousands of miles away from you?" Torsten cocked his head at the suggestion. Chevalier decided to hit home. "She needs you a lot more than you need her."

"What?" Torsten looked at the priest like he had said something laughable. "And how would you know something like that?"

"I've known the two of you since you were babies, Torsten. I can read the pair of you like books. For example, you're using all the mental fortitude you have right now to stop yourself from running over there and helping Josephine." Chevalier raised a smug eyebrow.

Torsten grumbled to himself. "Know it all."

"Exactly," Chevalier agreed with a beaming smile. "So, calm yourself. Josephine is trying to show you how much you mean to her. The least you could do is what she asks and let her prove herself."

Torsten nodded silently, his wounded arm beginning to really ache, looking on in longing. _You can do it. You can do it, Jo. _

* * *

><p>"What an interesting power," Leviathan mused. He looked down on the battlefield from a nearby rooftop as usual, Saviour by his side. "It would be more interesting if I could see exactly what she is doing to the Master of Assassin, but it is amusing nonetheless."<p>

"Hmm," Saviour mumbled. While the angel stood by his demonic Master, he was more preoccupied tracking the Servants location. The trio were still speeding away from the battle of Masters on Assassin's tank.

"What is it, Saviour?" Leviathan asked. His expression was smug. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew the reason for his Servant's inattentiveness. "You saw her, didn't you?"

Saviour turned away and to the direction of the other fleeing Servants. "Yes. I want her."

"Do not tell me an Angel such as you has succumbed to an original sin? And such a base one at that." Leviathan's mocking tone disguised his very real preserve curiosity with his Servant's desire. "If you do anything too rash, I may have to call upon Asmodeus to punish you for succumbing to his influence."

"She is clearly Brynhildr, a pagan shield maiden." Saviour kept talking as if his Master's jocular derision never happened. "I must make her mine."

Leviathan let out a cackle, bearing his pointed teeth. "Don't you mean give her to God? Archangel Michael is humility before God personified, are you not?"

"When I became a Servant to Leviathan, I came to realise that God was no longer my Master."

The homunculus gave his Servant a pat on the back. "I was wrong before. Perhaps a traitor to your master such as yourself would be more at home with Satan within Hell's ninth circle is more fitting than Asmodeus."

Saviour found that all he could do in response to such a suggestion was to laugh.

* * *

><p>The Challenger II sped down the night streets of Lyon, both Saber and Lancer still onboard. Neither Servant could pierce the exterior armour of the metal behemoth they rode; Assassin and the tank crew safe from harm within.<p>

Over the roar of the engine and the grinding of the tracks on the street, Lancer called out. "I have a plan!"

"Out with it!" Saber bellowed, still trying to use his massive sword to lever open the tank's hatch to no avail.

"That wall of soldiers you summoned," Lancer began to ask. "Can you do that again?"

Saber gave her a blank look. "What kind o' stupid question is that? Of course I could. What makes you think that they could stop this thing wi' them?"

Lancer shook her head vehemently. "Surely there's more to it than your army? It's Stirling Bridge, correct?"

Saber paused in thought for a moment. "Yes!" Lancer's eyes rolled enough for Saber to see it even with the rumbling motion of the tank. "You want tae trap him on the bridge?"

"Something like that, yes." Lancer flashed a dangerous smile. It made even Saber feel a slight chill. "All you need to do is get this tank on the bridge. I shall handle the rest."

"Whatever you say, lass. Any plan is better than wasting our time like this!" Saber wrenched his sword from the sealed hatch and shifted himself to the centre of the tank's primary turret. Lancer moved to stand behind him. Flipping his blade so the point faced the tank, Saber called over his shoulder. "Ye ready?"

"When you are!" Lancer called back, taking a step back to drop just off the turret and land on the back of the tank.

_This better work,_ Saber thought, his expression grim. "Árd Stirling Drochaid..." As the Scottish Servant unleashed his Noble Phantasm, the world around the modern war machine began to crumble.

* * *

><p>"I expected this," Assassin said to himself with in the belly of the mechanical beast he rode. The familiar-composed crew that operated the Challenger II were even more mindless than the other familiars that the Servant could muster. Anything Assassin said, he was simply saying to reassure himself. "But their plan isn't going to be enough."<p>

Assassin kept his eyes on the monitor with the tank that displayed the feed from a hull mounted camera. Outside, the very fabric of reality itself seemed to be tearing away, strips of the streets of Lyon revealing a never ending expanse of water. The water was the River Forth, over which Stirling Bridge crossed. The bridge was wider than in reality, obviously due to the sheer size of the tank that was using it as a crossing. However, there was no end to the bridge in sight. Instead, the River Forth and Stirling Bridge stretched on forever before the Challenger II and its crew. The deep blue water of the river was a death trap to anything that fell into it.

"They need me in the river to even consider doing anything to me," Assassin mused. "For now..." He raised his phone to his ear. "Let's keep them on their toes."

* * *

><p>"It's done," Saber bellowed over the tank's cacophonic engine. "Dae your thing, lass!" He turned to see Lancer take a flying leap from the back of the tank. "Holy shit..."<p>

Lancer back-flipped in mid-air before adjusting herself to fly up and back from the Challenger II that sped away from her. She raised Gungnir above her head and aimed for the ventilation at the rear end of the tank. "Fly, Gung-"

Before Lancer could finish the chant of her Noble Phantasm, the crack of a gun echoed over the waters of the River Forth and the grinding of the tank on Stirling Bridge. A bullet, it's aim true, tore through Lancer's stomach as she hung in the air. The golden haired Servant let out a yelp of pain, straining to keep her grip on her own spear.

"Lancer!" Saber screamed, racing to the back of the tank and taking a flying leap towards the now falling Servant. As he soared through the air, on a collision course with Lancer, Saber saw the source of the bullet that had hit Lancer. Racing behind the tank was now three black sedans, filled with black-clad familiars. In the rear-most sedan, a SWAT familiar was leaning out of the left rear window with a scoped M21 rifle in its hands.

Sabser soared through the air, catching the wounded Lancer in one arm before beginning a long arc towards the ground in front of the first black familiar sedan.

"I'm fine," Lancer groaned through clenched teeth. "Let me go and I can still take down that tank!" Saber ignored her as he landed hard on the road. Both his armoured feet slammed into the ground hard, cracking the bridge beneath him. Coiling his legs with the force of the landing, he launched himself off the ground just in time to avoid being run over by the first and second cars which raced down the bridge, unable to turn around in such a narrow space.

"Jes' wait until we have some footing, alright?" The arc of Saber's jump led straight into the path of the oncoming third sedan.

"Wait, what footing?" Lancer groaned hurriedly, facing the wrong way to see Saber's path. Instead, all she saw was the rear of the tank and two black sedans racing away from the pair of them. "We had footing when you landed, why are we searching for footing?"

"We need footing," Saber began before his feet slammed hard into something Lancer could tell was not the slab stones of Stirling Bridge. Instead, Saber's boots made a distinct crumpling screech only made through metal-on-metal contact. The Socttish Servant released Lancer, letting her own armoured boots hit 'footing'. "That can move!"

Lancer placed a hand to her injured stomach and took a step back to find herself speeding along the bridge at high speed atop the third sedan. The familiar armed with the M21 rifle spun to draw a bead on Lancer once again. However, the Servant was much too fast for the apparition of the Art, lashing out with a swift kick that contained enough force to break the familiar's very head off its shoulders. Both the body and head of the familiar quickly faded.

"Wow." Saber watched as Lancer took a lightning quick glance at her stomach wound, dismissed it, and quickly flipped into a handstand on the edge of the sedan's roof. Then, with a single smooth motion, Lancer let herself flip off the car towards the ground. She tucked her legs in and kept a firm grip on the edge of the car's roof allowing her whole body to swing into the opened rear window of the sedan. She went in legs first, catching the familiar sitting on the opposite side of the car completely off guard. Her armoured feet smashed hard into its side, pushing it into the right side door of the car so violently that its back broke as it toppled through the open window and out of the car. "Remind me never tae mess wi' you, lass!"

Saber, not skipping a beat, took up his sword and thrust it downwards through the car's roof straight into the front passenger familiar's head. With little effort, the Servant tore his blade across the roof so that its tip ripped right into the familiar that was driving. As he faded into nothing, Lancer dove through the gap in the seats and slinked behind the wheel of the sedan.

Saber's head appeared upside down in the driver's side window. "How good is your ridin' skill?" Lancer's lips curled into a toothy grin.

"Good enough to drive this piece of shit," she replied shooting him a dangerous glance.

Saber laughed, lifting himself upright and out of the window. He felt the car accelerate, Lancer attempting to catch up with the other cars and reach the tank. "Cursing is unbecoming of you, lass!"

* * *

><p>Cobb stood surrounded by a multitude of Roux clones. He was exhausted, breathing hard as he tried to slick back his usually immaculate hair. It was now thick with sweat and beginning to fall into his eyes. He wondered why there was calm amidst the onslaught, as he knew he was beginning to show signs of being overwhelmed. Cobb observed the ring of illusionary women around him to find them all breathing hard the same as he.<p>

_That Eye really is taking its toll on her. It's only a matter of time before I can gain an upper hand. Even so..._

The businessman was intrigued by just how potent the blows Josephine Roux dealt. She had aimed primarily for the legs and head, leaving his thighs and calves racked with pain. Cobb had been able to block or dodge every attempt at a blow to his head thus far, using any blocks as a sign to strike at the attacker knowing she was his real opponent. However, as quickly as she would strike, Roux would disappear into the crowd of her own likeness like a drop of water falling into a hard flowing river.

_It may be best to try and avoid any more direct fighting for now. _

He took the chance of the drought in action to swing the battle in his favour. If he couldn't kill his opponent, all he needed to do is kill her will. "You're struggling, aren't you? You've not done something on this scale before. Nor have you had to show it off to a friend." He motioned with his head to where Torsten stood. "You're quickly reaching your limit, Ms. Josephine Roux."

In unsettling unison, every single Roux gave a small snort then spoke. "So says the man who is struggling to even stand anymore."

"Your façade of strength is admirable, but I can see it in all of your eyes. By now, I should be dead. You've underestimated me and overestimated your own abilities." Cobb straightened himself. He flexed his puppet limbs as he brushed off his suit. "Give up now and perhaps I can allow you to live?"

"Strong words." A single Roux took a step forward, taking on the task of speaking for them all. "But I am not the one stalling for time to catch my breath."

Cobb grunted, caught out. His gaze shot to the idle priest and Torsten. "Fine then. I have a legitimate question for you if you would be so kind as to help me."

"You're wondering about the priest, Chevalier?" Roux pre-empted.

"As a matter of fact I am. It seems awfully strange that the neutral element of the Church is working in coordination with Masters of the Holy Grail War." Cobb took a cigarillo from his coat, lighting it with his engraved lighter and placed it to his lips.

The Roux acting as a speaker wrinkled her nose. The smell and smoke from Cobb's cigarillo quickly wafted in her direction. Its pungency was matched only by its disgustingness. "I won't bother explaining our situation as it is unlikely you would believe me. However, this Grail War is no longer a battle either Torsten or I can afford to lose."

Cobb began a long, slow laugh. "So you think you can save us all from the raging Homunculus the priest failed to contain?"

Her eyes widened. "How do you know about that?" Roux hissed, knowing there was only one real way that another Master could know about Leviathan.

"The Homunculus told me itself. As it is, I'm here now because of the thing that calls itself Leviathan." Cobb expected alarm from his opponent. To his own alarm, he received a deathly gaze from each and every clone surrounding him.

"I thought that meeting that thing would make you realise this Holy Grail War was a farce from the very beginning," the speaker of the Rouxs said, stepping closer to Cobb. He raised his extra limbs in defence. "While Chevalier's description of the homunculus led me to believe it would simply attempt to murder anything that stood in its way, I now realise the situation is far worse than we imagined."

"And what exactly are you talking about now?" Cobb asked, readying himself to attack the still approaching speaker.

"For all I know you're a puppet to his whim." The speaker was now barely two feet from Cobb. However, she turned away from him to look at Torsten. "Did you catch all of that?"

Speechless, Torsten could only nod in reply. _Leviathan actually met with another Master? What in the hell does it want?_

Without speaking himself, Cobb lashed out at the Roux before him, skewering her with one of his arms. The cloned faded, leaving the businessman grimacing with his cigarillo hanging from the corner of his mouth. "You will not disrespect me further, even if you are of Magi nobility."

The Roux closest to Torsten within the ring that surrounded Cobb took the original's place in conversing with her ally. "Then you understand that there is no point in saving this man?"

Torsten nodded stiffly. "Yes. I understand." Chevalier, still at his young friend's side, could not help but feel a twinge of melancholy at the exchange playing out before them. He placed a hand on Torsten's shoulder. However, it was more for the sake of comforting himself rather than the young Magus.

_I suppose it was naïve of me to expect a more valiant stand for life from either of them consider what has happened during this War. _The priest clenched his jaw hard enough to

Cobb felt his face heat up as his blood pressure rose. "Am I not even worthy of being taken seriously as an opponent?" He fired a Gandr shot at the second Roux that had turned his back him, using a real arm to do so. On impact the clone fell into a crumpled heap to the ground before dissolving. The sound of his own rising blood pressure reverberating around his head, Cobb could not hear the swift pitter-patter of running feet behind him until it was too late.

The real Josephine Roux let lose a flying kick to the back of Cobb's head, her heel finding a firm resting place at the hollow where his spine met his skull. The businessman fell forward, his cigarillo shooting from his mouth and his eyes bulging. As he slammed to the ground, face first, Roux pivoted on the back of his head and leapt from him. She ran forward into the ring of her own clones and hid herself, the sudden and brutal attack over in an instant.

For what seemed like hours to Cobb, he lay face down on the ground. He felt warmth of his face, spreading out from his nose. It was broken again, only just having been set from his confrontation with the Master of Berserker. He lifted himself from the road with his extra limbs, gripping his dripping nose with a free hand. His vision was blurred, the blow to his head completely rattling his occipital lobe within his brain.

However, he looked up to find that, while his vision was streaked with light and blots, there was no multitude of clones surrounding him anymore. Instead, there were hazes humanlike shapes where the illusions once stood. To his left, within a small group of hazy figures, stood a lone Josephine Roux; the Josephine Roux.

He was still dazed when he swung himself around in place, almost toppling over. Cobb turned to face the real Roux. Her face was a blank, trying to fade into the illusions that surrounded her. He didn't understand the mechanics behind his sudden ability to see through her trickery, but the how was unimportant now. Cobb took a lumbering step forward.

Roux furrowed her brow for a second, confused by his actions. As Cobb took another step forward, she took one back. _He can see me..._

As her foot hit the ground behind her, Cobb burst into a frenzied run straight towards her. She froze, her first instinct to send out a wave of illusions. However, Cobb ran straight through the attacking clones, each disappearing as he made contact with them.

_He can see me!_

Torsten watched as the doubles of Roux, still looking like exact duplicates of her likeness, proved to be completely ineffective. Chevalier could see exactly what was happening. The grip he had on Torsten's shoulder tightened. "How in the hell is he...?"

"What is it?" Torsten asked, his voice cracking.

Cobb reached Roux who had barely moved from where she stood. He let loose a clawed arm. She dodged it, but not through skill. Instead, she fell onto her backside below the lunging arm. Roux scrambled to raise herself from the ground, still sending wave after wave of pointless clones at Cobb. He ignored them as they fly through him, slamming clawed hands into the ground as Roux scurried up and away from the reenergised Magus.

"Jo!" screamed Torsten. He made to run to her side, only for Chevalier to hold him in place, tugging on his shoulder then wrapping his arms around him as he struggling to break free.

"No!" the priest cried as he held Torsten back. "You have to let her do this alone. She asked you to stay out of it!"

Just as she got to her feet, Cobb let fly another lunging strike with a clawed arm. This time, Roux attempted to jump to one side. She was too slow, the claw slicing her side deeply as it flew by her. She let out a yelp of pain and stumbled back from her attacker. Her glowing purple right eye flickered and gave way to her usual blue. The hazy figures that Cobb saw and the duplicates that Torsten saw instantly evaporated as the purple hue of Roux's eye vanished.

She clutched at her injured side, trying to keep some modicum of calmness with her. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel her legs shaking. She couldn't tell if it was from a burst of adrenaline or the fear that was now encroaching upon her mind that was leaving her defenceless.

"Your limit has been reached, Ms. Roux." Cobb taunted. He sneered, sending a shiver down Roux's spine.

_What is this? What's happening?_ _What do I do?_ She asked herself. As her mind racked itself with questions, it gave each one the same answer. An answer that made Roux's heart want to stop beating.

_I don't know._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Working sure as hell gets in the way of my typical writing schedule, but I think I can maintain my usual schedule despite the time constraints I have now with my writing. ^^

Combat chapters are some of my favourites to write. Especially when I can try and pull a certain level of character growth out of it. I'd like to think I did alright with that in this particular chapter.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter and tune in next time for more F/G!


	30. Attaque Brusquée : Final

Chapter 30  
>Attaque Brusquée : Temps la Terreur<p>

Cobb attacked relentlessly and with no mercy. With Roux on the defensive, he knew that it would take little effort to break her. Some extra mental pressure above and beyond physical torture, however, was in order. "I expected much more from the heir to the Roux house." He unleashed a horizontal swipe of a vicious claw. It screamed through the air and threatened to rip right through Josephine's face. She took a flailing step back in time to feel the air before her face get shredded to pieces. "I'm not so well versed when it comes to the Magi families, but I know that the heir to the most powerful household in Europe should feel shame at the inevitable defeat before a Magus that lacks a high-class lineage."

Roux fought the overwhelming urge to enter the businessman's war of words. Her pride, however, was dwarfed by her overwhelming fear that she was about to be eviscerated. She held her tongue as she weaved between lunging attacks thrown by Cobb.

"Your silence is revelatory, Ms. Roux," Cobb taunted with a sneer. He found himself facing both Torsten and the priest, catching a glimpse of the pair over his opponent's shoulder. He saw the priest yelling into the ear of the struggling young Magus within his grasp. "And it seems your little friend is desperate to save you."

_Torsten..._ Roux's concentration slipped as she thought of him, Cobb almost landing a fatal blow through her stomach. She darted to one side, circling around Cobb, and both Chevalier and Torsten were within her sight. Roux saw Torsten as he ignored the protests of the priest and tried adamantly to tear from his arms. For a moment, not even a second, their eyes met and Torsten called out her name then said something else. However, she didn't hear it. Instead, Roux found that all sound had become a single muffled drone in her ears. She felt them growing hot. _No, Torsten._

"No!" Roux found herself screaming at the top of her lungs. Both Chevalier and Torsten froze on the spot. Even Cobb faltered, taking a single step back and covering his body with his arms. "I can do this! Just watch, you idiot!" She looked past Cobb and right at Torsten. He nodded and relaxed within Chevalier's grip, but his face betrayed the fear in his heart. "Don't worry about me."

_That idiot, _Roux thought. _It's risky... But all I have left is my Eye._

A single clawed arm interrupted Roux. However, instead of backpedalling out the way, she weaved underneath and around the limb, moving in closer to Cobb. He attacked again, only for Roux repeat herself and slide closer. It wasn't long before she was less than a foot from her opponent. This close, Cobb attempted to stare her down.

_Where has her new spark come from? She was like putty in my goddamn hands!_

He unleashed a right hook with one of his normal arms. To his alarm, instead of dodging the blow, Roux threw out her own arm in response. Her open hand caught Cobb's wrist. She held fast and squeezed as tight as she could. Stunned, Cobb just gave Roux a blank stare.

Roux smirked and began to activate her Mystic Eye of Electrification. At this distance, Cobb could do little but watch as her left eye began to glow a vivid yellow. He had seen the power Roux could wield with the Mystic Eye of Electrification and he suddenly found himself frozen to the spot in terror.

It was then that Roux released a discharge of electricity from her eye. There was no physical electrical arc, nor a sound, but James Cobb felt the sudden jolt all throughout his body. With the jolt came an intense burning pain as his muscles contracted against his will. However, instead of sticking to the spot and uncontrollably writhing, Cobb found himself suddenly launched away from Roux, landing hard on his back. The shock ceased as he landed on the asphalt of the road, completely senseless.

"I was merciful." Roux took slow step towards her downed opponent. Cobb's delirium prevented him from seeing just how ragged each step Roux took was. Each use of the Eye used such a high volume of mana that it could leave herself more vulnerable than her opponent. It was rare, however, that she let an opponent live through the first shock. "I held off from using an alternating current. I can't emit a high enough voltage or current to kill with a burst of DC."

"Why let me live?" Cobb asked, raising himself from the ground using the limbs on his back. He hung limply from them as he rose, his muscles still just out of his control. HE could feel the twitching tremor of some muscles that had not even lost a charge.

Roux glared at the Magus before her. "Because as much as I said you were beyond saving, I don't feel it is right to deny you the chance to run. Leave. Use your Command Spells to banish your Servant or otherwise separate yourself from them and leave."

"There is no reason for me to do that when you are the one struggling just to keep your balance." Cobb let his feet touch the ground, standing firmly. "I said it before: You've reached your limit. You cannot use either Eye much more. If you could have killed me, you already would have."

Roux became alarmingly self-aware, feeling the tremor that now ran throughout her body and resulted in her faltering steps. It sickened her to know that Cobb was right, and her limit had been reached. However, that had little bearing on Roux's offer. "So you scoff at the chance of life? So be it."

* * *

><p>Lancer pulled her sedan to the right side of one of two remaining cars that were filled with Assassin's familiars. Before her, the remaining familiar car slowed to box her in from her own sedan's right side. The tight width of the Stirling Bridge left little room for any of the cars to manoeuvre.<p>

In unison and from both cars, familiars leaned out with automatic weapons and unleashed a maelstrom of fire on Lancer's car. Saber, still on the roof, leapt to the top of the familiar sedan to the left. As he flew through the air, he swept his blade out and downwards. It bifurcated a familiar leaning out the rear window of the car and tore a gaping hole in the sedan. As Saber's feet hit the top of the car, the roof buckled and he fell into the backseat.

As he landed on the leather seat, he brought his sword down and tore a hole down the familiar opposite him, clearing the backseat entirely. Then, without hesitation, he swung his sword around in the car, tearing through the seats, upholstery and windows. The mighty horizontal blow decapitated both front seat familiars before they could even turn around. As the driver slumped over without a head, it pulled the steering wheel to the left as it disappeared. The sedan swerved violently into the small wall of the bridge and tore right through it.

"Saber!" Lancer called out, ducking under the gunfire from the car to her right.

As the left most sedan flew off the bridge, Saber leapt from the hole in the roof. He arced across the bridge and landed flat on top of Lancer's car just in time to see the sedan he had just jumped from plummet into the Forth with an almighty splash.

Lancer hit the brakes for a split second, the sedan to the right rocketing ahead and the aim of each familiar put off. She slammed the roof of the car with one hand. "You alright up there?"

"Aye!" Saber called back, lifting himself upright. The familiars in the car ahead turned to fire back on the car flying at them. "Get ready tae get out o' the way o' this thing!"

"What are you going to do?" Lancer asked, only to see Saber leap off the roof of her sedan to the bonnet. From there, Saber launched himself in a single massive leap forward at the car ahead. The familiars firing began taking wild shots at both Lancer in the car and the flying Saber, bewildered and unsure of what to aim at. "He's mad!"

Saber flew so far and so fast that he was poised to soar over the roof of the final familiar car and land straight on its bonnet. _Perfect!_

The Servant once again angled his blade downwards as he came down onto the car to land. This time, as Saber was just about hit the car, he unleashed a thrust directly downwards. He hit the bonnet sword first. His blade sliced through the running engine then dug itself straight into the surface of Stirling Bridge. The car, its engine demolished and pinned by Saber's sword, came to a violent halt. The two familiars in the front seats blasted out the windshield on either side of Saber, flying out onto the road. The familiars in the back, both protruding from the windows, hit into the dividers between the front and rear doors. Both hit so hard they tore themselves into two halves, instantly killing themselves.

"Holy-!" Lancer said through gritted teeth, swerving to one side of the car as it came to a complete stop in front of her. As she tore around it at full speed, she saw Saber flipping over his own sword and tearing it out of the ground and car then flying off the wreckage. Lancer careened into Saber's flight path, crushing both the familiars that had landed on the road.

Saber slammed hard into the roof of Lancer's car, rolling forward off the roof and coming to a stop on the bonnet. He turned to see Lancer gawking at him from through the windshield. "That went better than I'd hoped!"

Lancer couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Hurry up and get up top aga-" Over Saber's shoulder, Lancer saw the Challenger II ahead of them. The turret was swivelling around on the chassis, beginning to aim backwards and directly at their car. "Hold on!"

Saber made a confused face just as Lancer pulled to one side of the bridge. The tank fired a shell, Lancer just avoiding it as it blasted into the bridge. Saber gripped onto the hood of the car with a single hand, wrapping it just on the inside of the right wheel well. As the shell missed its target, the turret attempted to realign itself and fire again.

Lancer slammed down hard on the accelerator, trying to get as close to the tank as possible. She swerved again to avoid a second shell that annihilated the bridge almost completely from underneath the speeding black sedan. Saber attempted to stand and found it a pointless exercise at such high speeds. Instead, he flung himself over the passenger side of the windshield, dragging himself slowly up to the roof of the car.

The tank unleashed another round into the bridge. This time, it was aimed in the direct centre of the bridge ahead of the car. It left a gaping and unavoidable hole in the bridge's centre, with barely enough room to pass on either side. Lancer pulled to one side of the bridge, close enough for the rear-view mirror on the left side of the car to be crushed and torn off by the bridge walls. The wheels of the car closest to the hole ran over the edge of the gap, barely holding onto the bridge's surface. Lancer snapped her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as she tore past the maw in the bridge and pulled over into the centre once again. She opened her eyes to find herself directly in the line of the Challenger II's turret. _Shit._

"Saber?" she called out, banging on the roof for good measure.

"What?"

"Can you swim?"

Saber paused for a second. "Aye."

"Then take a dive!" Lancer slammed her foot down on the accelerator so hard the pedal embedded itself into the base of the car. Then, flipping her legs around the steering wheel and dashboard, she unleashed a dual-legged kick to the windshield and burst it open. She launched herself out of the car and onto the bonnet as the sedan continued to speed directly towards the tank. Summoning Gungnir to her hands once more, she looked back at Saber who remained on the car roof. "What are you waiting for? Go!"

"I'm nae jumpin' off of this thing and leavin' you! We're doing this together!" Saber stood and jumped down to Lancer's side. "Besides, you'll want me tae sink this here tank!" Lancer gave him a look, but resigned to the fact arguing was pointless.

"Get ready to jump." Lancer had committed the reload timing of the tank before them to memory. They had just over two seconds left. "Okay... Now!" Before Servants launched themselves from the car just as the tank let loose another KEP shell. Lancer's timing was perfect; both Servants clear of the shell's impact with the car. It was a direct hit, shredding the front of the car to pieces and setting alight to the fuel in the engine and gas tank. It exploded with a thunderous crack and the screeching of metal.

Lancer, leaping high into the air for the sake of a clear shot, readied herself to unleash Gungnir upon the tank. She raised it above her head in one hand and channelled all her strength into her arm as she chanted its name. "Fly, Gungnir!" Pulling back her arm as far as it could physically go, then bringing it forward so fast it appeared a blur, she released the weapon of Odin upon the Challenger II.

* * *

><p>Torsten felt himself literally shaking in his shoes as he watched Roux almost cripple Cobb with her Mystic Eye. He had enough self-control to stop himself charging in blindly to help since she had given him a look he'd rather forget, but the fear-borne adrenaline coursing through his body left him feeling completely unstable.<p>

"She can barely stand up straight anymore," Torsten whispered to himself as he watched Josephine sway on the spot as she struggled to keep her balance. As much as her Eye had thrown Cobb back, he seemed to have barely been affected by it now. "Why is she acting like she's on top of everything? She needs help!"

Chevalier put a hand on Torsten's shoulder. "Do you trust Josephine?"

"What? Of course I do," Torsten snapped. "What kind of question is that?"

"The kind that you don't like to think you're skirting." Chevalier's grip tightened enough that he could hold the young Magus in place. "Listen to me Torsten: to worry about her is natural, but to act like she does not know what she is doing is not fair. You are doing her a disservice. I told you that she's trying to prove herself to you. That means you, of all people here, must have faith in her."

Torsten tried to rip Chevalier's hand from his shoulder, only for the priest's grip to tighten again. "I do have faith in her! I do! But I don't want her getting herself killed for my sake. I'm…" He looked at his feet. "I'm not worth it."

Chevalier began to grow frustrated. "That's not the po-"

"Don't you get it?" Torsten spun around, slapping away Chevalier's hand in the process. "Don't you get it at all? If she dies trying to do this for me, and I don't try to help, it's my fault twofold: I didn't try to save her and I let her do something like this for my sake in the first place. I don't want anyone dying on my account anymore, least of all being Jo."

"So you're going to go running in and try to save her?" Chevalier's voice took on a quality not unlike when he was in battle. "You're going to do exactly what she told you not to do?"

Torsten went silent. Between a strange sense of fear that Chevalier could evoke when he lost his calm demeanour and Roux's request, Torsten found himself locked in place. Caught between his morals and the priest's logic, he could only remain a bystander to Roux's fight.

_Maybe I really am an idiot. _

* * *

><p><em>Damn that rebound charge. <em>Roux resisted to overwhelming urge to cover her left eye as it began to feel as if it were on fire within its socket. _Ten years and I still can't let concentration lapse for even a second._

Her eye watered as the residual overcharge within it fluctuated and dispersed itself through her head. Her last attempt at diffusing the situation without putting herself in risk of killing herself failed, Roux was left with little alternative but to throw herself into what she knew was mortal danger.

"You talk big, grandiose even, Ms. Roux." Cobb readied himself for the final melee, his clawed limbs flexing and undulating as if they anticipated fresh blood. "But you are no threat to me and I will not play along with any charade aimed at allowing you rest!"

Cobb made a sudden lunge with two of his arms, the claws curled up to form spear heads. Roux stumbled back to avoid both, but Cobb followed through with his third clawed arm and stepped in with a slash. Roux raised her arm to defend her face, allowing the bladed hand to tear through her forearm.

"Aagh!" Roux pulled her arm close to her chest as it began to pour blood. The red liquid began to stain her top as she kept backpedalling from the focused Magus before her. "Shit!"

Cobb only became more vicious in response to Roux's fear, jumping in close enough to unleash punches with his original arms. He aimed for the gut with a right uppercut, finding his target and forcing all the air out of Roux's lungs. She gasped in both pain and critical need for breath and he unleashed a left straight to her jaw, taking Roux off her feet and toppling her to the ground.

"It's over, Ms. Roux!" Cobb cried as he gazed down upon his opponent's crippled and beaten form. She had bitten the inside of her mouth with the second punch, almost puncturing her cheek with her teeth. Roux spat up blood and locked eyes with Cobb as she tried to raise herself off the ground. She found him sneering over her clear defeat. However, he made to turn away – to look at the priest and remaining Magus behind him.

_This... Is my only chance..._ Roux glanced past Cobb's legs to see Chevalier and Torsten standing a way away, the former trying to contain himself while he held the latter back from charging in. She looked at both of them in the eye as she poured as much mana as she could into her right eye.

Cobb looked to Torsten and Chevalier. "You're next." Torsten began screaming incomprehensible obscenities, losing himself to despair. _And now he'll fall like a house of cards. All that's left to do is..._ He twisted back around to Roux with speed, finding her on the ground and trying to drag herself away to safety. With her back to him, she had barely made it any more than two metres from his feet when he shot out all three arms. All three found their mark, blasting through Roux's back. One crushed her spinal column, while another tore through the back of her ribcage and punctured her lungs. The third bored through her left scapula, leaving a gaping and ragged hole in its wake.

Josephine Roux was killed instantly.

* * *

><p>"No!" Torsten screamed so hard his voice fractured, making him sound choked and breathless. Chevalier let Torsten go, himself in a stunned silence. The priest stared on blankly at Roux's lifeless corpse, Cobb's clawed arms still embedded in her torso.<p>

Torsten, scythe held high, threw himself at Cobb, his back open to attack. The businessman heard the dogged steps of his next opponent and swung around. Torsten skidded to a halt before Roux's body that Cobb held aloft between them.

"Oh my God..." Torsten breathed, falling to his knees. Roux's head hung lifeless as the blades of Cobb's arms protruded through her chest and stomach. Blood seeped from the holes that riddled Roux's body. Torsten looked to her eyes to find them clouded and devoid of anything real or spiritual. He began to sob uncontrollably, his body shuddering, as reality forced its way into his mind. He had to say it to make it all sink in. "She's dead."

"Indeed." Cobb moved Roux's body to the side, revealing a snide grin on his face and a lack of any mercy in his eyes. He ripped one claw from Roux's body with a sickening crackle as he pulled ribs out of place and tore apart her innards. "And you're next."

Torsten couldn't hear Cobb's threats. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart and his ragged breathing as he slowly succumbed to shock. As Cobb took slow and confident steps towards him, Torsten gave up completely and sat limp, dead for all intents and purposes.

"Head up, Torsten." A familiar voice pierced Torsten's clouded mind. "And here I thought you manned up in our time together." The young Magus came back to reality, tearing his head from the ground to see Cobb's confused face. The businessman inspected Roux's corpse within his claws, but Torsten saw he was wrong about where voice came from. Behind Cobb, at first a blur, the form of Josephine Roux faded into a visible spectrum from which she had hidden herself. She stood clutching her bloodied arm, both her purple Mystic Eye of Illusion and her yellow Mystic eye of Electrification shining vividly.

The businessman slowly turned his head to see the second Josephine Roux metres behind him. "But... You're dead. Your body hangs from my arms!"

"The Mystic Eye of Illusion," Roux said, breathless and shaking violently under the mana strain of both her Mystic Eyes. "Is not limited to mere shadows of the original."

"Bu-" Cobb wished to argue with the truth, but Roux had no time to let him do so.

"Goodbye, Mr. James Cobb." Roux's multicoloured Eyes shone brightly as she amplified the mana they received. Her face contorted in agony as she pushed her body to the limit. "And for playing games with Torsten, I'm going to play a game with you."

Cobb ripped his arms from the fake Roux corpse and let it fall to the ground and disparate, trying to put up a final stand against the real Josephine. However, all Roux need was but to look at Cobb and he was doomed. She released the same alternating style current shock from her left eye upon Cobb that she used to obliterate Assassin's familiars.

The charge hit Cobb with a sharp crackling sound as the air around the super heated electricity warmed within milliseconds and clashed with the colder air around it. As she poured more mana into her Eye, she lost the ability to focus the charge. Miniature arcs of electricity became visible, pouring from her pupil and iris, and spreading out over her face.

Cobb felt as if he was being boiled from within. The first shock he had received left him out of control of his muscles and limbs, but this time they suddenly went berserk. His muscles underwent incredible tetany as the positive periods of current caused them to expand, and the negative current periods made them contract.

He unleashed a screech that was borderline inhuman as his vocal chords contorted under the effects of the electrical shock. It was then that one of his extra limbs, flailing from the alternating current, contracted enough to bury itself in his stomach. As it slammed itself deep into his gut, he choked on a gout of blood that burst from his mouth. The arm tore itself out only for another to pierce his side below the ribs and tear through his lungs.

As Cobb screamed in pain unthinkable, Roux collapsed to her knees as the electrical arcs began to increase in volume and became more than a light show. They began to burn at her face, leaving trails in their wake as they coiled and spiralled around her left eye. However, her gaze was unwavering as she stared down Cobb to his last breath.

Torsten and Chevalier looked on in horror as the businessman tore himself apart with his own arms, their claws becoming a deadly liability. Finally, after at least thirty full seconds of continuous current and shredding himself to ribbons, Cobb's legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. A flailing arm twisted and constricted, making a beeline for the left side of his head. It shattered his skull as it tore in from just behind the left ear, punching a clear hole through his face.

As soon as Roux knew it was over, she ripped away her gaze from the now smoking body of Cobb. She closed off any mana to her Eyes, snapping them shut in a scream of pain as rebounding electrical charge coursed through her own body. As the partially charred body of James Cobb collapsed backwards, propped up awkwardly by his extra limbs, Roux fell forward to the asphalt of the road and lost consciousness.

* * *

><p>Gungnir tore through the air, spiralling like a drill and letting off streams of brilliant light from its tip. Its aim was perfect, the spear of a God piercing the rear of the end of the tank from above. Gungnir burrowed its way through the engine block of the Challenger II. Within the chassis of the hulking war-machine, the engine burst apart and fired pressurised bolts and shattered shards of metal into the crew. Assassin dragged the gunner from his position to act as a meat shield, absorbing a withering volley of shrapnel.<p>

As the Challenger II ground to a screeching halt with a completely obliterated engine, Gungnir burst through the bottom of the tank and continued through the bridge. As the spear broke through the rocks that made up Stirling Bridge, it dissolved itself and reappeared in Lancer's hand as she soared over the tank and landed directly on top of the turret. "Perfect." Lancer looked up to find Saber rocket through the air above her. "Finish it!"

The hulking Servant landed on the bridge hard, both armoured feet slamming into the ground solidly. Saber spun around, twisting his sword around in his hands and directing its point down to the ground. "Gladly!" He plunged his blade into the ground before the tank. At first, nothing happened. Saber's blade cut through the rock that composed the bridge as if it were butter.

From within the tank, Assassin could see everything unfold on the monitors that linked to viewfinder cameras. "Arrogant shits! This deal isn't closed yet!" throwing aside the shredded gunner as it dissolved, the Servant took his place.

The turret swung around from facing backwards, Lancer leaping off to one side of the tank. The massive Rheinmetall cannon focused itself on Saber who stood still with his sword lodged into the bridge, unusable. Just as Assassin made to fire the final KEP round that was loaded before the rest of the crew perished, he felt a rumble that shook the entire tank.

From where Saber's blade had pierced the cold stone of Stirling Bridge, Assassin could see a crack tearing itself through the ground using the Challenger II's targeting computer. The crack spread out from Saber like a web, passing underneath the tank entirely. Lancer ran to Saber's side as the bridge began to rumble, unable to sustain the weight of the war-machine.

Suddenly, with no warning to Assassin, the back end of the tank fell through the bridge as the cracks enveloped the hole created by Gungnir and gave way. The Servant fired his final shell as the cannon veered upwards, sending it flying high into the sky and disintegrate pathetically.

The tank began to screech down the hole that was growing ever larger below it. Saber and Lancer watched as the metallic behemoth tipped almost completely vertical, it's cannon pointing directly into the sky, before it flipped backwards and through the bridge. The muffled screams of Assassin as the tank fell pierced the air as he tank plummeted to the River Forth. With a catastrophic splash, the Challenger II hit the water and instantly sunk below the surface as the great weight of the machine dragged it under.

Both Lancer and Saber stood at the edge of the hole in the bridge and observed as the bubbles of air released from the innards of the tank began to lessen then cease altogether.

Saber heaved a sigh of relief. "He'll rot at the bottom o' the River Forth forever now."

Lancer about to open her mouth to speak, suddenly went rigid and spun on the spot. "Roux..."

"What is it?" Saber took up his sword and made ready to dispel his Reality Marble. "Trouble?"

"I..." Lancer almost choked on her words. "I can't feel any flow of mana from her anymore."

Saying nothing, Saber made a might slash with his sword to thin air, rending his own inner world's very fabric. The Reality Marble began to collapse and splinter apart into shards that disintegrated into nothingness, leaving both Servants back on the night time streets of Lyon. The crumpled and water pressure compacted Challenger II lay before Saber and Lancer.

Ignoring it, Lancer took off in a run towards where she had left her Master. Saber was quick to follow.

* * *

><p>Torsten crawled on his hands and knees past James Cobb's corpse. From every orifice, including his gaping wounds, a light haze of smoke billowed that carried with it a rancid smell of burnt flesh. However, Torsten paid the dead Magus no mind and dragged himself to Roux's side. Behind him, he could hear Chevalier finally begin to move, running to Roux's unconscious body like he was.<p>

Torsten scrambled to her and saw she was still alive, but her breathing was sharp and shallow as if she were in great pain. Her arm, the victim of Cobb's claws, was not as bad as the copious amounts of blood made it appear. However, her face was another story. The arcs of electricity that had form from her eye had created thin burns that criss-crossed around her eye socket like a poorly constructed spider's web.

Lifting Roux from the ground and holding the top half of her body in his arms, Torsten held her head to his chest tightly. "That was too cruel Jo, far too cruel." As he spoke, Roux's eyelids fluttered. His still racing heartbeat and the sound of his voice pulled her into conscious thought.

"It worked, didn't it?" Roux's voice was barely even a whisper. She kept her left eye shut, her right eye reverting back to its usual piercing blue. "I'm so sorry you had to endure that, but it was the only way I could hope to win."

Chevalier reached the pair, lowering himself to one knee and observing Roux's wounds. "Nothing fatal," he said after a second or two. As stern as his face was, the priest betrayed his own relief with his shaky voice. "You had me fooled there for a second, Josephine."

She attempted a smile."Thanks for keeping him out of it." She made a motion with her head to Torsten, rolling her face over into his chest.

"You're lucky I'm not vindictive by nature, because I could kill the both of you for doing this," Torsten croaked. "Where does the pair of you get off putting me through hell?" His joke did as intended and lightened the sombre mood.

Roux giggled, clutching at her aching sides. "You're not the one devoid of any mana and half-dead, you know?"

Unable to make any sort of comeback, Torsten just hugged her tighter. "You didn't need to do this. I don't need you to do this to prove anything to me."

"I was actually being rather selfish." Roux tried to hold it back, but a single tear formed in her eye and left a clean streak down her cheek as it fell down her face. She looked ready to open up, to explain herself, but closed her open mouth and shook her head. "I'll tell you about it later." Kissing her on the forehead, Torsten couldn't ask for any more.

"Let me make sure you're not really at death's door, okay?" Torsten gave Roux's injured arm a more thorough check-up, inspecting just how deep the flesh was rent from the bone.

Chevalier stood to give the demolished surroundings a quick look and leave the pair of Master's to their own devices. Torsten's house was completely obliterated, the rubble slowly burning away to leave it as mere ashes. The charred and disfigured corpse of James Cobb lay nearby, still smouldering. _Who could believe she could do that when pushed enough._

The priest turned to look down the street the great tank and both Servants fled down. To his surprise, he saw two figures in the distance. Both of them were running towards him a breakneck speed. "Ah, perfect timing." Within seconds, both Saber and Lancer reached their Masters.

Lancer practically threw herself to the ground beside Torsten and Roux. Her silver speckled blue eyes darted across her Master's dishevelled frame, taking in her wounds and scars. "Oh, Josephine! What happened to you?"

"She took on the Master of Assassin singlehandedly." Torsten motioned to the deceased Magus. "All things considered, I think she got off rather easy compared to him." Lancer glanced to Cobb's body for a split second, hardly enough to notice its state, before looking to Torsten.

"You let her fight him _alone_?" Lancer's fury was well obfuscated by her beauty, but Torsten couldn't say he didn't expect her to be angry.

Roux opened her mouth to speak first, but Torsten interrupted. "She wouldn't fight him any other way."

"You what?" Lancer redirected her frustrations to her own Master. Roux sighed, hoping that she could have delayed any further explanations until getting somewhere safe.

Saber decided to interject. "Dae ye think this can wait? I think we need tae find somewhere tae rest up for the night." Lancer gave the Scottish Servant a look of frustration.

"Please?" Roux asked, grateful for the backup.

Roux's Servant gave a muffled and belated sound of agreement before turning away. Saber gave Roux a small wink before resting a hand on his own Master's shoulder. "Ye alright?"

"Yeah..." Torsten answered with a sigh. "You can get the full story later."

Clapping his hands together, Chevalier gained everyone's attention. "I think we'd best move, people. Roux needs rest, and we no longer have a place to stay."

"Sure we do," Roux said. "We have the Roux's Lyon Estate."

* * *

><p>Assassin lay within the ruins of the Challenger II, himself as crushed and broken as his own war machine, still very much alive. His arms and legs were trapped under the crushed chassis of the tank, and he was skewered in multiple places along his torso, however, he found himself unable to die.<p>

"So," he spluttered to himself. "He's dead." He had felt the loss in connection with his Master as the tank fell to its grave beneath the surface of the River Forth. "Can't do much without a business partner, can I?"

As the Servant lay in an ever growing pool of his own blood, he could feel the pressure in his head building. He could feel his thoughts degrade with every passing second, ideas and schemes to escape his inevitable death blurring together into incoherent droning within his own brain.

"So even after my Master is dead, I can't stop Mutually Assured Destruction." Assassin let out a laugh at his own fate. "At least I can end the War with a bang. _My_ bang."

In a sudden and unexpected surge, the pain to his head exploded. As he groaned in pain, he could feel a terrible force flow throughout his body. It coursed from his brain and down his spine, spreading to each limb. It forcibly hardened his body. Where shrapnel and protuberant pieces of the chassis pierced his body, the energy that flowed from his mind would disintegrate them and heal his wounds.

As his right arm was freed from being pinned and became functional once again, before his ability to think freely was stolen from him by his own trump card, he reached a hand into his tattered suit jacket and took out his mobile phone.

Raising it to his ear, Assassin spoke his last sentient words. "Enact MAD Protocol. Target: Lyon."

* * *

><p>Deep within the Mediterranean Sea, to the south of France, the French Triomphant class submarine 'Le Terrible', was conducting a firing test of a new M51 submarine launched ballistic missile. The newest addition to the French Navy, Le Terrible was one of the most advanced nuclear submarines in world. However, its crew was not expecting the current emergency situation.<p>

"It's definitely another sous-marin, sir. It's beneath sea level and moving rapidly towards the coast at 24 knots." One of the sonar operators confirmed his initial identification effort, looking to the Captain who stood menacingly behind him.

"And you say it simply appeared on the sonar, out of nowhere?" The Captain placed a hand on the sonar operator's shoulder, his grip firm enough to get his frustrations across without words. The Captain knew his boat was the only French submarine to be out at this time and in this location.

"Yes sir."

The Captain tightened his grip for a split second, enough to allow a sharp pain to shoot down the young officer's arm. "Has it noticed us?"

"If it has, it hasn't paid us any mind, Captain." The operator gulped, knowing this would be on his head.

"Try to contact it." The Captain barked across tense control room.

* * *

><p>Over a kilometre away, the mindless crew of the recently detected and recently formed Delta IV class submarine prepared to fire their own SLBM. The R-29RMU2 Liner missile to be fired housed twelve separate nuclear warheads that acted as MIRVs, allowing the single missile to attack multiple targets. The planned target for each warhead within this missile was Lyon and its surroundings.<p>

The submarine cut out its engines, slowing to a stop and preparing to fire. The familiar Captain gave a silent nod to the crew that surrounded him.

* * *

><p>"It's stopped, sir!" The sonar operator swivelled in his chair to face the Captain.<p>

The Captain strode to the operator's side once again. "What is it do-"

"Sir, it just released a missile!" Another sonar operator called out, panicked.

"What in God's name?" The Captain hissed. "All hands, prepare to engage with the unknown vessel. Whatever it is, it's not ours and it already got a chance to fire!"

"Sir, the sub..." The sonar operator trailed off, confused.

"What is it? Speak up!"

"It's gone."

* * *

><p>As the nuclear R-29RMU2 Liner was released from the Delta IV submarine, the hull of the vessel completely failed. As the hull breached and split from the nose of the sub down the bottom, the pressure change caused the boat to suddenly and catastrophically implode and compress to less half size.<p>

The remnants of the submarine sank in a crumpled ball, disintegrating into the nothingness from which it came as it's creator's mana was siphoned away.

* * *

><p>Assassin dropped his phone and heard it clatter around as it fell into a pocket within the crumpled remains of the Challenger II. By now, he had succumbed to his own Mutually Assured Destruction. With no Master, and no hope at victory, he had become a mindless avatar of pure annihilation.<p>

With little effort, Assassin ripped himself out of the tank. In this form, fated to perish when what little mana running his M.A.D. ran out, only a single thought could be comprehended by his beleaguered brain.

_If I can't have it, no one can. If I must die, all must die._

* * *

><p>As Torsten stood up, Roux cradled in her arms despite her protests, Saber and Lancer both froze in place. "What? What is it?"<p>

Lancer's usually pale face seemed to grow impossible more pale. "Assassin is still alive. And I can feel something from far away. Whatever it is, it's immense and headed straight towards Lyon."

"Assassin is headed straight this way tae!" Saber cried, turning to face the presence of the Servant they had thought dead.

Roux was overcome with a sense of dread. "Lancer, how far away is this immense presence?"

"Hundreds of kilometres. It's rising high above the Earth as we speak." Lancer spoke matter-of-factly, quickly catching onto the fact Roux had her suspicions as to what it was.

Torsten tightened his grip on Roux. "You don't think it's a...?" He couldn't bring himself to say what he thought, out of fear of the truth.

Roux nodded. "It's a missile of some sort. Assassin did use modern technology. It's not beyond reason that he would be able to use a missile. If it's coming from kilometres away, it's going to be something big. _Really_ big. We're talking nuclear in a worst case scenario."

Saber grunted in frustration. "I donnae think I can dae anything about a missile."

"A nuclear missile?" Chevalier cried, dumbfounded. "How is it a possible for a Servant to use one of them?"

"Does that even matter?" Roux croaked, coughing. "It's on its way here. No matter its strength, we need to stop it before it gets too close."

"Easier said than done," Torsten said. "If it's a nuke, it'll be something with multiple warheads and it will be rising into space to let loose each one. We don't have any way of taking down a single missile that far away, never mind multiple ones."

"I can do it." Lancer began to look up and around her, searching for something high. "Gungnir can do it."

"What?" Everyone present but Lancer said in unison.

"I can track its presence, so I can hit it with a sure shot from Gungnir." Lancer noticed the tallest building nearby, a particularly fancy looking three storey home only just down the street, and took off in a run towards it. Saber ran after her, along with Chevalier. Torsten attempted to keep up as best he could with Roux in his arms.

"You're talking as if this is simple, Lancer!" Roux yelled out to her Servant. "The amount of mana for a shot like that might permanently cripple you, or worse!"

Lancer only hastened her pace, surpassing Saber's top speed easily and leaving everyone in the dust. She called back to her Master as she literally screeched to a halt outside the house. "So you expect me to let everyone die?"

Roux bit her tongue, unable to answer.

* * *

><p>The R-29RMU2 Liner soared into the clouds. It had already released its first stage rocket and abandoned the cap to its warheads. The twelve nuclear devices were now open to the upper atmosphere of the Earth.<p>

The internal timing mechanism of the missile kept a countdown until MIRV deployment:

200 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

* * *

><p>Lancer scaled the outer façade of the tall house with ease, using the window ledges for footing. Saber, Chevalier, Torsten and Roux gathered at the bottom of the building and could only watch as Lancer finally mounted it and disappeared from sight.<p>

"Lancer!" Roux cried out, suddenly feeling like she may never see her Servant ever again.

The golden-maned Servant gave no reply, already in the middle of setting up a clear shot at the missile. She knew it was mere minutes, perhaps no more than three, before the warhead could reach Lyon. Now that she knew it separated into different detonating devices, she knew she had even less time than that to throw Gungnir and have it reach the missile in time.

_May Odin guide my spear..._

* * *

><p>At the short distance the R-29RMU2 Liner was fired from Lyon, the missile's journey was almost completely vertical. As it breached the clouds, the second stage booster was dropped from the missile, leaving a single booster and the bus that houses the MIRVs tearing through the air.<p>

140 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

* * *

><p>Lancer poured every ounce of mana she had into Gungnir as she backed up to the furthest edge of the building from her target. To get enough speed behind the spear, she would have to take a running shot.<p>

_I may not have enough mana to keep the Gungnir active that far away._

As the terrible thought drilled into her mind, Lancer shook her head to free herself of it.

_Even if I have to destroy myself, I have to stop this thing!_

* * *

><p>The final booster to the Liner was released as the missile reached a suborbital height above the Earth, far above the clouds and just outside the reaches of the atmosphere. All that remained was the controller bus and the warheads that it would release upon Lyon.<p>

100 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

* * *

><p>"Raaaaargh!" Lancer screamed, taking off at full speed, holding Gungnir aloft. All the mana the Servant could muster was compressed into the slender form of the Godly weapon as she ran, causing it to resonate and begin to tear through the air itself as she ran with it. As she slammed her armoured boots to the ground with each step, propelling herself ever forward, Lancer began to break the flat stone that topped the house.<p>

Lancer was at the opposite side of the building in less than five seconds. She kicked off from the lip of building, causing the entire top floor to shake and shudder as it caved inwards. Arching her back as she flew through the air, Lancer let Gungnir go in a mighty throw. "Fly, _Gungnir!_" As the Servant fell to Earth, the spear shot to the Heavens like a bullet, unleashing a screeching howl as it created a scorching hole in the air as it soared ever upwards.

Completely concentrated on launching the spear and watching it propel itself towards its target, Lancer didn't even try to land properly. Instead, she plummeted to the ground and landed violently enough to bounce a single time before rolling to a stop on the rough asphalt of the road.

Raising herself to one knee, she looked to the hole Gungnir had punched in the sky. "Now, it's up to Odin."

* * *

><p>60 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.<p>

Gungnir began to break apart from its physical form; such was the amount of mana that was infused into it. From the tip of the spear head to the end of the shaft, Gungnir peeled away to reveal a spear shaped bolt of pure energy. It shuddered and undulated as it flew through the air, looking less like a weapon and more like lightning. As it converted to energy, the spear burned holes through the clouds.

45 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

The missile bus began to align itself to properly release its payload of nuclear warheads. All twelve devices were ready to be released at a moment's notice.

30 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

Gungnir had a higher speed than the missile could reach, but with every passing second, the distance it could travel would lessen as mana that sustained it would spread out and become wasted.

15 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

The bus began to drop from its sub orbital height as Gungnir began to drive ever closer.

10 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

Gungnir's ethereal form began to break apart, the mana sustaining it unable to hold the wholly energy composed form together any longer.

5 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

The brilliant light of Gungnir began to flicker and fade as it fell apart and it reached its maximum travel distance. The missile was within a hundred metres and closing.

2 SECONDS UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

Warheads began to separate from the bus, their propellant beginning to ignite to fire off each individual nuclear device to its target.

1 SECOND UNTIL WARHEAD RELEASE.

The flickering remnants of Gungnir collided with the warheads and bus, incinerating all that came into contact with it. The ethereal spear punched a hole through the central four warhead and the bus itself, while the pieces of Gungnir that had begun to break away lashed out and tore at the outer ring of warheads within the bus and ripped them to shreds.

Every single warhead was disabled in an instant, some exploding harmlessly without their nuclear payloads being triggered and other falling to Earth as inert chunks of metal. Like the jettisoned boosters before them, the wreckage dissolved into nothingness before ever reaching the ground, leaving no evidence the missile even existed.

* * *

><p>"No." The Captain of the Le Terrible sat on the radio himself, his submarine surfaced to use conventional communications with the base at Toulon. "No, I don't know what the vessel was exactly, sir."<p>

The rest of the crew within the control room sat in silence as the Captain discussed the mysterious events that had unfolded that night with the Vice-Admiral present at the military port to their north.

"It disappeared with no trace after firing, yes sir." Despite the cool temperature within the bowels of Le Terrible, the Captain couldn't help but break into a nervous sweat. "And you say that the SLBM disintegrated of its own accord, sir?"

More silence save for the beeping of electronics and the whirring drone of machinery. The sonar operator who had spotted the enemy vessel stood to attention at one side to the Captain. He contained his terror well, but the stains under his arms gave some hint to how he really felt.

"Yes sir, of course," the Captain sighed. "It never happened." Disconnecting, the Captain stood and caught sight of his gawking crew. "What is it? Get back to your positions! We have a scheduled missile test after all."

As the rest of the submarine sprung to life once again, the sonar operator remained at his Captain's side. "S-sir?"

"Yes? Did I not say to go back to your posts?" The Captain shot a withering glance to the young man.

The sonar operator gulped, but pressed on despite fear of reprisal. "Yes sir, you did, sir. But, what just happened out here tonight?"

The Captain frowned for a split second before alternating to a trained, stony faced coldness. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

*phew* That was an awesome chapter to write! Very fun indeed. And, by my calculations, I should be over 150k words now.

I definitely hope you enjoyed this one, because this one took some serious work to get how I wanted it. ^^;

At the very least, I'd like to think it left you wanting to read more! ^^

Tune in next time for more F/G.


	31. Amour

Chapter 31  
>Amour<p>

Lancer fell as she tried to stand, collapsing to her hands and knees. The amount of mana she had forced into Gungnir so it could last as long as it did bordered on the suicidal. It was unlikely she could use Gungnir's sure-hit attack for the rest of the War. However, more importantly, she felt the presence of her own Noble Phantasm and the missile's obliterate each other far, far away. "It's done. Lyon is safe for now."

Saber, running to his fellow Servant's side, offered her his shoulder and gently raised her up. "That was some shot, lass."

"Lancer!" Roux forced herself from Torsten's arms and to her own feet. Stumbling to her Servant, she fell into a hug. "You were brilliant."

Chevalier cleared his throat loudly. "Isn't Assassin headed our way? We need to leave this until later, I'm afraid."

"No," Lancer said. Her voice was weak. "He has fled. I don't know why, but he's not concealing his presence any longer. And, I don't know how, but he feels far more dangerous now." She began to whisper something softly into Roux's ear. No one but the young woman heard what Lancer was saying, not even Saber who held her up.

"But, he's not on his way here anymore?" Torsten felt the need to confirm the fact they were now safe. His heart was still pounding at the thought that the horror that was that night's battle may not yet be over.

"No, Lancer's right lad. The bastard's run off wi' his tail between his legs." Saber gently broke up the embrace between Roux and Lancer. "But we need tae get out of here and somewhere where the twa' of ye can rest up."

"In that case," Lancer murmured. "I shall take my leave." Before becoming ethereal, she gave her Master a knowing look. It was strangely warm, yet embarrassed looking. Roux's cheeks went red.

As Lancer vanished, Saber gave his Master a nod and joined her, feeling little need to hang around after expending a great deal of mana to summon Stirling Bridge. Finally, it was just Chevalier and the pair of Masters left in the empty and broken Lyon street. Torsten couldn't help but notice Roux stood dumbfounded, her face still a rosy red.

"Are you fine to walk?" Chevalier asked the question, but the look on his face said he knew the answer. Roux took an unsteady step, making to start the journey home when her legs gave way below her and she began to fall. Torsten dived down, catching her before she hit the ground. "I'm going to take that as a no."

Torsten scooped Roux up into his arms. She couldn't look him in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to have to baby me like this. It's shameful."

"Oh, shut up," Torsten said, following Chevalier as he led the way to Roux's home. He deliberately hung far enough behind the priest to give himself and Roux some sense privacy, even if it was false. "The last thing you need to be doing now is wallowing in self-pity."

Roux's clearly audible 'hmph' reached even Chevalier. He let out a snort of amusement. "Hey! Quiet you! I don't see either of you being carried around like an infant."

For a time, the three walked in silence. All the while, Roux couldn't bring herself to look Torsten in the eyes. He thought of everything he could have done to suddenly make her act so stand-offish. He surveyed his surroundings as he thought, realising they were approaching the corpse of James Cobb. Chevalier simply walked past the charred body without a second thought, but Torsten could feel Roux curl herself tighter in his arms as they passed the mangled thing that was once a person.

"Are you okay?" Torsten asked the question after a time had passed from seeing the body for the last time.

Roux looked at her arm and ran a hand down her burned face. "Yeah. I think so."

"I, uh, wasn't talking about your injuries."

"Oh..." Roux trailed off upon her realisation. James Cobb was the first human she had killed herself. Torsten wasn't privy to something so sensitive, but Roux suspected she had probably let slip her nerves. "I'll be fine."

The secret words that Lancer whispered into Roux's ear clouded her mind. She knew she was sounding blunt to the point of rudeness, but looking at Torsten or speaking him had suddenly become a challenge.

"Did I do something wrong?" Torsten asked glumly and in a hushed voice. "You didn't want me to tell Lancer you took on Cobb singlehandedly, did you?"

A shiver ran up Roux's spine. Her odd behaviour was obvious enough for Torsten to catch and now she had to explain herself. "N-no, that's not it."

"Then what's 'it'? I never meant whatever 'it' was." Torsten spoke like he had been put on fast-forward and throwing up his own words.

"There is no 'it'." Roux began to feel her face heat up. She felt a strange sense of anger well up inside her. Anger directed at Lancer for making her act this way, but being vented at Torsten.

Torsten sighed. "Then what _is_ wrong?" He paused for a second. "This doesn't have anything to do with Lancer, does it?"

Roux's mind went blank at the correct guess. "Uh..."

"What on Earth did she say to you?" Torsten racked his brain for what he could done to Lancer. "She's probably pissed I let you fight Cobb alone and turn out like this. Oh man."

Resisting the urge to yell, Roux exhaled deeply before speaking. There was no way she was getting out of this without telling an insulting lie or the embarrassing truth. Truth was the more noble option. "Lancer is not mad at you. In fact, it's quite the opposite."

"Then why are you mad?"

Roux groaned as hard as she could. Given her weakened state, that wasn't particularly hard. "I'm not mad at you Torsten. Would you shut the hell up and listen for a second." She finally locked eyes with him. "This is embarrassing enough to say without you butting in and slowing it down." Torsten nodded and snapped his mouth shut.

"Lancer said..." She cleared her throat and looked ahead to Chevalier. He had quickened his pace and Torsten had slowed his, leaving the priest far ahead and out of earshot. "Lancer told me that doing what Magi do when low on mana would be more than a matter of us finally consummating our love and we should think about it."

Torsten, more than just stopping dead, almost had a heart attack. "_Lancer_ said _that_?"

"That's all you have to say?" Roux couldn't contain the urge to yell at the top of her lungs anymore and let loose.

Chevalier called back without turning around, lest the grin on his face be seen. "You two doing alright back there?"

"We're fine!" Torsten shouted back before focusing back on Roux. "But she really said that?"

"No, I just made it all up to embarrass myself." Roux's sarcasm was much belated as far as she was concerned. She groaned and found herself unable to look at Torsten again. "I can't believe she'd actually say that."

The pair was left in an uneasy silence once again as the weight of Lancer's advice sunk in. While it was true that both of them wanted each other, being told to go all the way was a very different feeling from simply going ahead with it when they felt they were ready.

"Say something." Roux spoke without looking at Torsten.

"Like what?" Torsten asked after a brief hesitation.

"Like whether or not Lancer is right."

"You certainly need mana. That much is true. From a practicality standpoint, Lancer is spot on." Torsten's answer failed to satisfy.

"Well, thank you Professor!" Roux's frustration borne snark would have Torsten laugh if he wasn't at the receiving end of it. "I was hoping for a less pragmatic answer."

Torsten's ears burned. His throat felt dry. Roux was looking at him again, but this time she was angry. At first, he was almost scared of her. Roux's eyes shot holes through him. Now that he knew the true power behind them, her eyes seemed almost otherworldly. However, he felt compelled to fight fire with fire.

Torsten leaned in; moving past Roux's befuddled face and whispered into her ear. "Practicality can get fucked."

"Wha-?" Roux's mind went blank.

Like nothing ever happened, Torsten straightened himself and kept on walking with Roux in his arms. Roux had nothing to say. She couldn't think of anything to say. She did, however, find herself wearing a goofy smile.

* * *

><p>"Well, that battle was conducted with haste, wouldn't you say? And poor Assassin: cursed to madness before he finally succumbs to death." Leviathan sounded more energised than ever to his Servant. However, Saviour was barely paying attention. The fallen angel was watching as the Servant known as Lancer spiritualised by her Master. "That golden-haired battle maiden really has ensnared you."<p>

"It's nothing as deluded as that," Saviour spat. "God may no longer be my Lord, but I must cleanse any pagan filth I come across."

The pair had watched from a block away as Lancer had thrown her mighty spear to the heavens and destroyed Assassin's missile. Leviathan was impressed at the feat, but it only served to increase the ambivalent desires of Saviour. On one hand, she was something pure and beautiful. On the other, Lancer was a disgusting relic of heretical pagan trash. To conquer something of such power would be a great joy, but she was still an enemy to him down to their very souls.

"And how do you plan to cleanse this Servant of her sins, Saviour?" Leviathan asked, enjoying the games he could play with such a conflicted Servant as his.

Saviour began a low and dangerous laugh. "Eternal servitude should suffice."

Leviathan knew what this meant. He had hoped someone would entice his Servant to use such a potent power; a power Saviour had early revealed he wished to not use in fear of inciting the wrath of God himself.

Turning from the Masters and priest that were wandering away from the scene of their attacker's carnage, Leviathan placed a hand on his Servant's shoulder. "Once Berserker has fallen, you can claim her as your own." He paused for a second. "But no earlier."

Saviour bowed. "My Master. Are we to follow Assassin until his last?"

"I don't think so. Don't you feel it yet? The other mad dog of the war is closing in on him. A battle between rabid animals is vapid and, frankly, boring. We have other business to attend to."

* * *

><p>"You really shouldn't have tried to carry her all the way here, Torsten," Chevalier chided. "I offered to help. Didn't I offer to help?" He directed his question to Roux herself, who sat next to Torsten on the foot of the main staircase of the Roux's Lyon estate. Torsten, for his part, could barely feel his legs after carrying Roux all the way to the mansion on the outskirts of Lyon.<p>

"You did. He did, Torsten." Roux nudged the exhausted Master in the ribs.

Panting hard, Torsten attempted to slowly stand. "I hate the both of you."

"Such harsh words, lad!" Saber materialised beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Of course, ye love me, eh?"

"Oh, of course," Torsten groaned dryly. "How are you holding up, Saber?"

Smirking and stretching himself out in an exaggerated display of laziness, the Scottish Servant relaxed in the safety of Roux's home. "Fine, fine. Ye know me: cannae keep me down! Lancer's the one in a bad way."

"She used a lot of energy to take down that missile..." Roux looked around for her missing Servant. She knew that Lancer was resting in ethereal form, and most likely in a semi-unconscious state at that, but Roux missed her presence. "I don't think she'll be fit for combat for a least a day. Maybe two."

"And neither are you." Torsten offered Roux a hand up, which she gladly took. "I think its best we get you to bed as soon as possible and wrap up those wounds of yours, eh?"

Chevalier interjected. "Do you need me to look at those burns?"

"It's okay," Roux sighed. "I've had worse during training when I lose it completely. A few second degree burns will heal up by themselves with the appropriate salve or some other."

The priest nodded, but the worried look on his face made it clear he wasn't so convinced. Truth be told, he felt guilty for letting Roux fight alone. After promising to do anything in his power to keep them from harm, it felt cruel to leave her to fend for herself and almost be killed. Even if it was for her own sake and Torsten's. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine. Torsten can look after me for tonight. You need to get some rest too, you know? I don't care how much better you feel, you won't be at one hundred percent for a while yet." Roux was stern.

"If that's what you think is best." Chevalier took his leave, heading towards the downstairs kitchen to make himself some tea.

"I think I'll have a wander then get some rest meself, alright?" Saber turned to leave the mansion. "Best tae get an idea of how safe this place is considering its size." He waved goodbye, leaving Torsten and Roux alone.

_Time tae leave the lovebird tae their thing. _The Servant found it funny just how obvious their nervousness was. Not to mention how obvious the advice Lancer had given Roux was. He may not have heard her words, but Roux's flabbergasted look and red face said it all. It didn't hurt that Saber was thinking the exact same thing. _I cannae believe it's taken this long. Pair of little shy things. _

* * *

><p>Torsten helped Roux up the stairs and to her room, making sure she was sat comfortably on the bed before following her instructions to find the first aid kit she had stashed elsewhere in the huge mansion. After wasting ten minutes going in the wrong direction and finally making an entire circuit of the estate, Torsten returned to Roux with the first aid kit in hand.<p>

"Jeez, this place is huge." Torsten started digging through the kit to find a bandage. "You're lucky you ended up with this place. Although, it's a little big to defend even with a Servant."

"Hmm." Roux stretched out her arm for Torsten to see the wound. She was distant and there was tenseness in the air that made the room feel half the size it was. The air was thick with the desire from both Masters to say or do something they both desperately wanted but were ever so nervous in going through with.

Taking a gentle hold of her wrist, Torsten slid up beside her and gave the cut another check. It wasn't dirty, but alcohol wouldn't hurt. "You okay? I didn't go overboard with the whole 'practicality' thing, did I?"

"Oh... no." Roux was finally feeling the extent of her exhaustion. Just lifting out her arm to get it cleaned and bandaged was an effort. She felt a strange sense of emptiness with the lack of mana in her body. It was like hunger, growling from deep within her very core, but amplified tenfold and not as easily satiated. "I just don't feel so hot."

"I'm not surprised. But you did great out there." Torsten finished wiping off the dried blood from Roux's arm and applied the bandage. He wrapped it tight, and noticed how limp her arm fell as he let go of it.

_She's really down and out..._

"Let me check your burns." Torsten leaned over Roux as she lay further down into the bed. Their pulses began to race in almost perfect unison as Torsten's face hovered inches above Roux's. He ran a single finger down her cheek, feeling the distinct difference between her soft skin and the thin lines where electrical arcs had left evidence of their power; of Roux's power.

All the while, the pair now found it impossible to take their eyes off each other. They shared an expectant stare, both hoping the other would start what they longed for. Torsten's finger reached Roux's jaw but he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. He ran a line down her neck with his fingertip, reaching her collarbone. Roux quivered as Torsten lowered himself down and kissed her long, pale neck.

Roux wrapped her hands around his head as he began to run his finger further down her body, kissing her all the while. His finger trailed down her cleavage, pulling at her top lightly as he ran it around her left breast and trailed across to her sides. He ran his finger all the way down to her hips and thigh, savouring each moment.

Slowly, Roux lifted Torsten's face to meet hers in a kiss as he began to use his entire hand to caress her curves. As the pair locked lips, Roux threaded her thumbs through the straps of her tank top, pulling them down and the top with them to reveal her chest. As she pulled the top down to her waist, Torsten swept his hand up her body.

Rolling over, Roux toppled Torsten and found herself above him, holding herself up on the bed with her hands. He suddenly looked worried, seeing the tremor in her arms as she held herself up above him. Roux shook her head and placed a single, slender finger to his lips, dismissing his silent fears. Balancing unsteadily on one hand, she began to unbutton his shirt from the collar down. She cocked her head to one side, her ponytail falling around her neck. Torsten pulled the hair band from it to let loose Roux's auburn hair. Whipping back, she let her locks frame her face and flow down to her lover.

Far beyond the event horizon of their love, Roux lowered herself onto him. They shared the warmth, energy and life of their bodies as they came together and knew this was it. Torsten's hands smoothly floated over her back, following the contours of her body. Before long, he reached the lip of her jeans and began to carefully pull them down around her hips.

Lust, passion and desperation ensnared them, bringing them together in the ecstasy so longed for by the both of them.

* * *

><p>Assassin had lost the ability to vocalise what remained of his thought patterns as he sluggishly staggered down the empty suburban street. His disintegrating faculties could function well enough that when the nuclear SLBM he had created was destroyed, he knew he had to flee. However, the deranged Servant could not process anymore than turning in the opposite direction and lolloping away.<p>

Now that he had fled, there was little to do but stumble down the night streets of Lyon until he ran out of the mana that sustained his own madness induced strength. If anyone had been there to witness Assassin's journey through the French city, they would notice first and foremost that his expensive suit was shredded and barely hanging onto his frame. His slicked back hair was also tousled and messy and his gait had a shuffle to it. However, it was his face that was the most distorted part of him.

Plastered across his lips was a throat slasher's smile that he could not physically drop, even if he was inclined to do so. His activation of Mutually Assured Destruction had made that an unlikely thought to cross his mind. In addition to his sick grin, his eyes had completely clouded over to a misty white. Both irises and pupils had simply dissolved, leaving his stare truly blank.

Both eyes failed to function any longer. Instead, Assassin used a form of animalistic instinct that was given power when he discarded his own sanity. Smell, taste and touch drove him down the streets, in addition to his ability to sense mana.

It was not long before he detected a far off spark that had a certain familiarity to it. His memories were shot in his mindless state, but the imprint that the particular source of mana had left on him was a strong one and transcended the simplistic nature of a memory. It made the deranged Assassin slowly piece together an image of the mana's owner.

Growling, Assassin's pace quickened as he felt compelled to hunt down the owner of the mana that taunted him. He tried to speak, grumbling and choking out a single word.

"Berserker..."

* * *

><p>"That foolish little businessman had at least one trick up his sleeve, my Queen." Takeo Kinjo walked with his Servant through the desolate night streets of Lyon. Having sensed the enormous burst of power from whatever power Assassin could muster, the pair had been in search of the businessmen to settle the battle between them once and for all. "But it seems to have failed."<p>

Berserker, taking huge strides at her Master's side, kept her usual silence as Kinjo talked at her more than to her.

"Still, you can feel him, can't you? That slimy backstabbing Servant has done a number on himself and is coming this way," the Master of Berserker said, licking his lips. He noticed his Servant quicken her pace, knowing her revenge was close at hand. Even after being severely battered and wounded by Assassin's Challenger II, it was the first drawn blood from Assassin's shot to her head that gave her an unnatural obsession with his death. "Lead me to him, my Queen."

Berserker took off into a full sprint, leaving her Master behind to run after her. She could feel her quarry's presence just around the next block. He was approaching her, exactly as she had hoped. While there was something off about the feel of his mana, it was most certainly Assassin.

Within seconds she reached the corner of the block and skid to a halt, twisting herself to look down the street to her left. Sure enough, the bedraggled figure of Assassin was lumbering towards her at the next intersection down. Takeo Kinjo reached his Servant breathless and saw the same sight. Assassin's head lolled on his shoulders, falling forward and hiding his face.

"He's on his last pathetic legs." Kinjo curled lip and look of disgust revealed his dissatisfaction. He had at least hoped for a small challenge for his Queen. It was unlikely a dishevelled and half-dead Assassin could pose much of a threat. "Have whatever little fun you can before he's breathes his last, my Queen."

Summoning her rugged shield and spear, Berserker began a slow walk towards her prey. She would usually charge right in and obliterate her opponent as quickly and decisively as possible, but even a beast could revel in the joy of revenge. Trying to make seemed to be a short fight last longer, a slow but relentless approach would have to suffice to prolong Assassin's suffering. Before long, Berserker and Assassin were barely one hundred metres apart.

It was then that Assassin vanished with the sharp crackling of asphalt. Where he stood, a small foot sized crater remained. Berserker froze and raised her shield in time for the insane businessman to collide foot first with it in a kick. The kick had enough force to push Berserker back a step. Kick flipping back off the shield, Assassin landed less than four metres away from Berserker, his face now in full view.

If Berserker was any other class, she may have been disturbed by Assassin's completely disturbed expression and blank eyes. However, it only served to let her realise that this was a fight she could savour.

"So," Kinjo began, watching the mayhem before him unfold from a safe distance. "He has given himself almighty powers at the cost of any semblance of humanity he had. Perhaps you can enjoy this little battle after all!"

Berserker didn't hesitate to make a fierce thrust with her spear. Assassin rolled around it as it barrelled past him. On his follow through spin, he ripped his pen knife from his tattered suit and launched himself at her face. Berserker blocked with her shield, barely avoiding the crazed attack.

"It seems he's faster than before. Not to mention he has some kind of spine now." Kinjo cackled as the battle between mindless dolls was waged before him. "Your opponent may just be worthy now, my Queen!"

Assassin swept low, below Berserker's sight line, and let loose a flurry of slashes at her ankles. A slash found its mark on her left foot, almost severing muscle. Enraged, Berserker unleashed a kick with her stricken foot, slamming Assassin square in the jaw. He flew back, limp, and hit the road hard. As he skidded to a halt, Assassin sprang into action, twisting himself off the ground and swiftly upright. His jaw was hanging unhinged and loose. Making no effort to reset it, Assassin launched himself at Berserker once again.

Kinjo watched on in amazement as Assassin leapt on top of Berserker's shield and attempted to tear at her face with his diminutive pen knife. "Perhaps he would have done well to keep enough of his sanity intact to realise he is waging war with a piece of stationary!"

Assassin perched himself on the lip of Berserker's shield, flailing wildly at her and stilling grinning like a madman. The Queen of the Iceni tugged her shield closer to her chest, dislodging Assassin. As the maddened Servant began to fall and attempt to cling to the roughly hewn shield, Berserker slammed it forward and down to the ground. Assassin was caught between the asphalt and the wooden shield, pinned hard to the ground.

Raising the shield ever so slightly, not enough to release Assassin, Berserker began to repeatedly bring it down upon him. The sickening crunch of breaking bones, mostly ribs, could be heard with each destructive blow. Assassin scrambled to free himself from the relentless assault, but found himself trapped.

Ready to end the fight altogether, Berserker swung the shield out of the way, deliberately clipping Assassin's face with its edge to daze him. The blow cracked his skull, splitting a portion of it open and spilling copious amounts of blood over his face. As the shield was away, Berserker pulled her spear downwards, making a beeline line with its deadly point to his head.

Assassin avoided the attack to his head at the last second, twisting his head out of the way and allowing the massive weapon to embed itself in the ground. The businessman shot up, pen knife extended and began frantically stabbing and slashing at Berserker's body. Rending and puncturing her flesh, he did little but pierce the skin, such was the blade length on his weapon of choice.

Tossing both her shield and spear to the ground, freeing her hands, Berserker threw Assassin back down to the ground. Before he could fling himself at her again, she slammed down hard on his stomach with a massive sandal clad foot. He let loose a slash at her leg, but she caught his right forearm with a single massive hand and squeezed hard enough to snap both his radius and ulna. He quickly dropped his pen knife as his hand failed to function. With her other hand, Berserker shot out and grasped Assassin by the face, crushing his nose. Her massive palm covered most of his face, but left his blank eyes staring out from the gaps between her fingers.

"You may have gained some smattering of power, Assassin," Kinjo mused to himself, knowing this was the brutal end to another Servant by his own. "But your increase in speed does not help you if you are caught by the single strongest Servant in this entire War!"

Berserker, still holding Assassin by the arm and face, began to pull. At first, she was slow as if to measure her opponent's strength. As he struggled to fight against her, she began to put more power into the action. To get more leverage, she released his broken arm for a split second and lunged for his upper arm, crushing his humerus within her grasp.

Assassin began to make snarling noises underneath her hand, even trying to bite at her palm. Berserker stretched back, keeping her foot firmly planted on Assassin's stomach, as she pulled harder and harder. Suddenly, the crumpled Assassin's spine gave way with a thick and disgusting snap. However, he was still very much alive. Losing the ability to flail his legs around, he let loose a muffled screech of anguish as Berserker refused to stop her torturous assault.

For a few more seconds, Assassin's body withstood the constant force applied to it. However, Berserker tugged sharply one last time and broke Assassin's limit. He was ripped clean in half. A diagonal crevice tore Assassin into two pieces from just under the right shoulder, leading down to just under the left ribs. All resistance he had given stopped immediately as his life ended instantly and brutally. Berserker stumbled back from the force of the tug, stepping off of Assassin's crushed lower half and releasing the loose bag of broken bones that used to be his right arm.

"Beautiful." Kinjo marvelled at his Queen's handiwork.

He watched as Berserker, still fuelled by an uncontrollable desire for revenge held the top half of Assassin's corpse in her hand and began to pummel it furiously into the ground. For a full half of a minute she repeated the horrific action, leaving what was once his head a bloody, messy pulp. Grey matter and shattered skull were splattered across the street and her hand.

Finally, she released the corpse and let it fall to the ground. Before her eyes, Assassin's corpse burst into shimmering gold dust when it hit the asphalt. Carried away on the air, the bottom half of his body did the same. The fine dust rose into the air, catching the light and creating a vivid mist. From the sheen of the dust, Kinjo could swear that the dust was genuine gold, polished to the highest degree.

Covered in blood, organs, shards of bone and her clothes shredded, Berserker turned to her Master. Her face was as emotionless as ever, devoid of mercy or pity. Behind her, she was framed by curtains of aureolin produce from Assassin's death.

Takeo Kinjo could almost shed a tear at the sight of his Servant. "So very beautiful."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

This was probably the toughest chapter I've had to write so far, for a number of reasons.

Also the riskiest considering the content and how I wanted it to feel. ^^;

I'd like to think I did okay, but it's up to you, the readers, to give the real final judgement! XD

Tune in next time!


	32. Formation Pour L'Apocalypse : Encore

Chapter 32  
>Formation Pour l'Apocalypse : Encore<p>

As the sun begun it's slow journey across the sky over Lyon, illuminating the city in a warm, orange glow, Leviathan took his Servant to where he intended to bring about the beginning of the end. The homunculus had commandeered a boat from a ways down the Rhone and was slowly making his way north between the second and third arrondissements.

Saviour stood with his vivid golden blade at the throat of the boat's captain, its lone occupant, who Leviathan had ordered not to kill until the order was given. The man had pleaded in French for the pair to spare his life and let him leave his small vessel to them. Saviour had almost broken his arm to stop him escaping the boat and thrown him against the helm to continue his duty.

The vessel itself was small but plush motorboat. White leather seats wrapped around the boat's stern, which is where Leviathan had chosen to lie out and relax. "You don't need to keep your sword on the man the entire time, Saviour. It's rather crude, if you ask me."

"Crude works, Master." Saviour fought back with words, but lowered his sword. The Servant opted, however, to stand right behind the shaken captain in the case he tried to escape. "But why do we need him? My Riding skill is more than enough for this pathetic craft."

Leviathan heaved a sigh, but his exhale came out shuddering and weak. "Do you doubt my judgement?"

Saviour held his tongue made sure not to look at his Master. By the tone of his voice, he was not in the mood for second-guessing. _The toll of the Grail's mana on his body is beginning to make him a pain to deal with._

Like the homunculi used in the Holy Grail War before him, Leviathan was now beginning to feel the effects of the sheer amount of mana that coursed through him. He had done better than any before in keeping a façade of strength but, now that all but three Servants save for his own remained in the War, he was approaching the point where he may lose his sentience. He contemplated his fate as Saviour stood watch over the captain, admiring the sights as they sailed past both medieval and ancient buildings.

_But, the time for the Hellmouth is soon at hand. Once it has been opened, I won't be limited by this body any longer._ He flexed a hand to find his fingers numb. _For now I just need to keep up appearances._

"Master." Saviour's voice pierced his languid mind. "Pont Lafayette was the destination correct? We're just approaching it now." Leviathan looked past his Servant and the bow of the small craft to see the Lafayette Bridge slowly approaching.

"Cut the engine and we'll coast in. We don't need to be in any exact location." The homunculus leveraged himself off the seats roughly, but swiftly regained his usual cool and collected air. "Although I suppose underneath the bridge itself would be optimum."

The captain placed a shaking hand on the throttle and cranked it back, shutting down the engine with a mechanical groan. "S'il vous plait..."

As the innocent man turned to his captors, Saviour grasped the back of his neck and stopped its movement. "Quiet."

In silence, the trio on the boat waited as it came to a slow and peaceful stop just underneath the Lafayette Bridge. The odd early morning car could be heard making its way across the structure above, but the tenseness in boat below drowned out everything else.

Leviathan took a look from over the side of the boat to see the less than clear water that it floated in. The murky green hue prevented any clear view of the bottom. _Perfect_.

"Alright," Leviathan said, taking off his stolen priest's cassock and shirt. As he sat to take off his shoes, he noticed Saviour's puzzled expression. "I'm not walking around Lyon drenched in the water of the Rhone."

"You're going for a swim then?" Saviour asked only half-jokingly.

Leviathan pushed past his Servant, grabbing the captain by his collar and dragging him to the edge of the boat with him. "_We're_ going for a swim." Lifting the sailor of his feet, the homunculus swung him over the edge and into the Rhone. The river rarely reached deeper down into the Earth than six feet. As such, the man almost slammed head first with the murky river bed and broke his spine.

As the man surfaced, gasping for air, Leviathan dove in after him. He caught the captain's collar as he shot into the water, dragging him down into the river. As the pair disappeared below the surface, Saviour was left confused and alone. _Live sacrifice? _

* * *

><p>Leviathan twisted himself around as he broke the surface of the water, landing on the river bed with both feet. The waters of the world were his natural domain, his true form being a monstrous sea creature that could take on many forms. Even as a homunculus, he did not need to breathe underwater. Being given a body capable of magecraft also entitled him to the manipulation of water itself.<p>

Dragging the Frenchman to the muddy and trash ridden floor of the Rhone, he knelt over him. The captain was flailing and kicking, fighting to release himself from Leviathan's grip and reach the air less than ten feet above him.

_It'll all be over soon._ Leviathan raised his free hand to the face of the suffocating captain, allowing the dying man watch in horror as his arm morphed and contorted into a deadly looking organic blade from the forearm down. It was not unlike the claw of a great sea monster, extending out as it formed to a full length of roughly three feet. _I only need your flesh and bone._

Without hesitation, Leviathan plunged the vicious weapon straight through the sailor's heart and ended his life. He dug the blade in deep enough that his elbow rested above the gaping hole in his chest, thick red blood pouring out around it. The blade dug straight into the ground below, cutting a swathe through it as if it were nothing but air.

Leviathan began to pour copious amounts of mana through his arm, down into the body of the dead captain. The body jittered and writhed as it was flooded with more and more magical energy. It slowly began to dissolve and rot as Leviathan used the mana almost like a digestive acid and liquefied his victim. However, instead of the body simply falling apart and flowing away in the current of the Rhone, the very mana itself held it together as it turned to mush within the water.

Once the body had finally become an unrecognisable mass of red slime, wrapped in soiled clothing of what used to be the captain, the homunculus drew back the mana he had poured into the corpse. It pulled the remains of the captain with it, releasing his clothes to the water. It coalesced on his bladed arm that remained embedded in the ground. _I only received roughly forty percent back of what I expended. Curse this flawed shell._

The red slime coated his arm in a thin crimson shroud, which began to pour down his arm and seep into the hole he had made in the riverbed. Charged with mana, it ignored the current of the Rhone. As the last dribbles of red goo entered the Earth, Leviathan torn his arm from the hole he created. Slowly changing the blade back to his hand, the hole closed itself over and there was no sound save for the rushing of water.

A small, inconspicuous crest began to form on the riverbed around where the hole had closed itself. It was blood red and bore a single word, repeated in all manner of human and divine languages. Leviathan quickly located the English version of the word: "Hellmouth."

The homunculus marvelled at the almost disturbing simple crest that would bring about the end of the Holy Grail War and more. He reminded himself of the principle that ordained the very opening of the Hellmouth:

_The Hellmouth may lay claim to many a man's soul, the first destination in every sinner's journey to hell, it only requires a single sinner to exist on the face of the Earth to continue functioning._

_And all man has sinned. _

* * *

><p>Josephine Roux awoke to the warmth and much needed comfort of her own bed. She found herself facing the ceiling, with what appeared to be the midday sun pouring through the window. If last night had been any other night, she may have been more worried about wasting time waking up so late. However, she already wished she could just lie in bed for hours and savour the simplicity of peace and quiet.<p>

A rustling of covers beside her caught her attention. Torsten was still sleeping, facing away since rolling over mindlessly. It was then that Roux noticed he was snoring his head off. And, while not extremely loud, he was going for it with gusto. It was hard for her to not roll her eyes. _I thought I was the one that needed rest._

Deciding to leave Torsten to his sleep, she was left to think about last night. It was a strange night by all accounts. Filled with both pain and pleasure, she was torn between two polarising experiences. For the first time, she had killed a human being. For the first time, she had made love. The guilt she knew she should have felt for ending a life barely had any time to sink in before she was overwhelmed by lust and passion. What she was left feeling was a sense of embarrassment - embarrassment that she had succumbed so willingly to desire without thought and abandoned her own logic.

_What else could I do after enduring that?_

Worse, she remembered very clearly that she almost completely opened up to Torsten. _I told him I'd tell him later._ She felt a chill of sheer terror drive its way up her spine. Memories she'd rather have left buried resurfaced like a reanimated corpse bursting from its own grave.

_No,_ she thought, wiping her eyes to pre-empt her tears. _I'll tell him. Just not right now. I can't yet._

_Are you alright, Master?_

Lancer's disembodied voice tore through the darker thoughts that begun to enshroud Roux's mind. Startled by the voice, Josephine almost shot out of bed. "Lancer? You're awake!" She whispered, stealing another quick glance at Torsten. He was still fast asleep.

Lancer sighed. _Yes. I don't think I can hope to use Gungnir effectively for the rest of the War, however. But, you were just about to burst into tears. Are you okay?_

"I'm fine, Lancer. It's nothing." A terrible thought occurred to Roux and she found herself quickly entering a cold sweat. "H-how long have you been awake? And... here?"

There was a distinct hesitation from the invisible Servant. _I only just came into the bedroom, but I've been conscious for an hour or so. Why? _

Despite her relief, Roux tried to discreetly pull up the bed covers that already kept her naked body well hidden. "No reason. Anyway, we'll need to put a lot of thought into how to proceed now."

_Indeed._ Lancer paused again, clearing her throat before she spoke. _I assume everything went okay last night while I was incapacitated?_ Roux as dreading this question, but had a feeling her Servant felt responsible for what had obviously transpired in her absence.

"I would think you could tell how much mana I have now, Lancer," Roux teased, stifling her own giggles. She couldn't see Lancer, but she could definitely imagine her losing her composure completely.

_O-of course! Um, very good. I hope I didn't pressure you to do anything untoward or..._ Lancer stopped herself before digging a complete six feet under.

"Calm down." Roux twisted around so she faced away from Torsten. "It... was a long time coming. I think it may have happened last night either way." For her part, she didn't lie. Considering that their training session before the ambush was very nearly their first time, it was only a matter of being alone for long enough and she knew. That only served to amplify her embarrassment, but explaining herself was enough assuage the worst of her doubt.

_That's a relief. How are your wounds?_ Lancer's quick subject change was welcome.

"Alright. My arm aches a bit, but my side seems fine. By the time I was carried home, it didn't hurt anymore. I'm just happy I don't need to be babied. A single night of being carried around like a child is enough for me"

_Was it that ba-_ Lancer began to joke when there was a small knock at the bedroom door. _That's probably Chevalier. _

"Yeah, Saber would have just knocked the door down. And, I have no idea how sight works when you turn ethereal, but turn away or whatever it is you can do." Roux whispered. She heard Lancer laugh softly as she dragged herself from bed and tried to locate the clothes that were thrown across the room last night. "I'll be just a second!"

"Take your time." Chevalier sounded like he was whistling on the other side of the door.

After finding her underwear on the opposite side of the room from her jeans, she retrieved a dressing gown from her closet. _My God... Last night was more than a little intense._

She opened the door just enough to her poke her head through, but no more than that. "Good morning!" She beamed as innocent a smile as she could muster.

"Good afternoon." Chevalier's sly reply wiped the fresh smile from Roux's face. "I just thought it best to check on the two of you. Clearly you're feeling better."

"Indeed," Roux chirped. "A bit sore here and there, but none the worse for wear."

"And Torsten?" Chevalier asked.

Roux swung the door open. "See for yourself." Chevalier poked his head in to see Torsten still very much asleep, lightly snoring.

Shaking his head and walking away, Chevalier had to resist the urge to laugh. "Just make sure he gets up before the sun sets at the very least."

"Easily done!" Roux turned to the bed. It was about five metres away from her position at the door. She bounced around on her feet for a second, testing her newfound energy. "I'm probably going to regret this..."

_Regret what? _Lancer said, sounding worried.

Ignoring her Servant, Roux took a small sprint to the bed and jump up and onto it. She landed near its centre on her knees. "Josephine Roux wakeup call!"

Torsten sprang up like a man possessed; flailing around like something had just attacked him, he tried to leap from the bed to no avail. Roux burst into raucous laughter, bringing Torsten back to the sad reality of what just happened. "What in the hell is it with you and terrorising sleeping people?" Between gasps of breath and his racing heart, Torsten was finding it hard to talk.

"Oh, it's not sleeping people." Roux teased as she slinked closer to him. "It's just you." She gave him a playful hug, almost knocking him out of the bed.

"Well don't I feel special then! How are you feeling?"

"How do you think? I just took a flying leap onto the bed!"

Torsten had to hold Roux at arm's length and look her straight in the eye. "I think you would have done that anyway."

"N-no, I wouldn't." She blushed, her face turning crimson. He couldn't resist her when she blushed.

Torsten gave her a peck on the forehead. "You would."

Roux's face went even redder, but she suddenly felt a pang of guilt as the image of James Cobb's grotesque corpse shot through her mind. Suddenly, she had to be free of Torsten's grip and shook him away.

"What's wrong?" Torsten asked, flummoxed.

Roux saw the terror in his eyes. _He thinks it's his problem._ "I, uh..."

"Are you alright? You're acting weird."

Roux couldn't think of anything to say but the lingering question on her mind. "Do you think it was alright to make love last night? After what I did?"

"You mean after killing…?" Roux nodded furiously to stop Torsten from saying his name. "I-I don't know. I didn't think about it."

"Which is exactly the problem. We didn't think about this."

_Fine my butt, _Torsten thought. "I think James Cobb is getting to you like Adelheid got to me, Jo. It's normal to feel bad about what you did."

"That's not..." Roux began, her mind struggling to come up with a convincing way to avoid the guilt that was lying in wait over her actions last night. Coming up with nothing, she bit her tongue.

"It's natural to feel bad about killing someone, Jo. Saber told me after I had killed Adelheid that he had never once felt any sort of joy from killing people."

"Then why don't I feel guilty? Why did we do what we did last night, barely an hour after I murdered someone?" Roux was beginning to sound petrified. Lancer listened in on the conversation; desperate to provide input, but feeling it wasn't her place to intrude.

"Maybe you don't feel guilty because you knew what you did was to save yourself and me. You know you did the right thing." Torsten struggled to sound convincing even to himself as he grasped at what straw were within his reach to try and comfort Roux. "Making love last night was... different. I think that was going to happen even without the extra pressure of you being low on mana. I certainly didn't think about that."

"That's what I've been telling myself." Roux hugged her knees to her chest. "And I just don't feel right about it."

"What you don't feel right about is killing somebody. It's only natural to be scared of the fact you ended a life." Torsten began to hit what he was thinking was a stride. "But when we made love, we did that because we wanted each other. I don't think it's fair on either of us to let what we do in this War affect us outside of battle any more than it has to."

Roux sat in silence for a time. _I don't know what to think anymore. _

"Do you love me?" Torsten asked a bold question with no hesitation.

Roux almost fell over. "What? I... Of course I do." She felt strangely giddy vocalising her feelings for the first time. It was like shining a light on the darkness that had overtaken her that morning, piercing the blackness and dispelling her fears.

"Well, I love you," Torsten replied just as bluntly. "Isn't that enough to say that what we did last night was not wrong?" He felt just as funny inside as Roux, but he put on a braver façade than he felt on the inside for her sake.

"Maybe," Roux said. She moved closer to Torsten once again, sidling up beside him to lean against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her. "I'm thinking I over think things too much."

Torsten gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Maybe."

"I'm sorry about this." Roux felt the sudden urge to apologise.

"There's nothing to apologise for. Last night was probably the worst case of poor timing we could have gotten," Torsten said. "It could have easily been me that killed Cobb and been in the same position as you now." After a second of silence, Roux began to giggle. "What?"

"I just imagined trying to carry you all the way here." She burst into full laughter as the image of her failing to pick a sickly Torsten up, then resorting to dragging him filled her mind.

"That's what you got from all that?"

"Pretty much." Roux hugged Torsten back. "I'll go grab a shower and let you get dressed then." She shuffled herself off the bed and found herself a fresh set of clothes from her closet.

As she headed for the door, Torsten had to ask. "Wait! Are you okay now?"

"I will be." Roux replied with a smile. "Oh, and leave Torsten to get dressed, Lancer. He doesn't need you watching him."

"What the hell?" Torsten, wide eyed, disappeared under the blankets. "Lancer has been in here this entire time?" He heard the clunking of boots near the bedroom door as the Servant formed beside her Master.

"Master!" Lancer sounded more embarrassed than angry. "Why did you have to say that?"

"Because she's evil, that's why!" Torsten called out from within the bed sheets. "But the pair of you can discuss this outside!"

* * *

><p>The very late lunch at the Roux household, graciously prepared by Father Chevalier, was welcomed by the pair of young Masters. The priest had made enough for everyone, resulting in the strangest collection of people at a dining table that any of them had ever seen. For a time there was only the sound of clattering knives and forks as the chewing of food as each person at the table realised just how hungry they were after the night before.<p>

"Is there something wrong with the food, Lancer?" Roux noticed her Servant, while slowly making her way through the meal, was precocious about how she ate the plate of Eggs Florentine laid out before her. She toyed with some of the spinach on her plate as if it were something foreign and in need of inspection.

"Oh, no." She raised a fork full of spinach to mouth and ate it. "I'm just not used to being fed. As a Valkyrie I'm more used to serving the Einherjar of Valhalla than being served myself."

Saber had already wolfed down his meal, reclining with his feet on the dining table. "Are ye doing alright after last night?"

"I'm better now that I've rested, but I've already mentioned to Roux that it's very unlikely I'll be able to use Gungnir for the rest of the War." Lancer paused for a second. "Looks like we're going to need to rely on your Noble Phantasms, Saber."

"Aye, about that." Saber's nervous shifting in his seat set everyone on edge. "I donnae think I can handle using Árd Stirling Drochaid any more than twice after last night. Two more times may be a stretch as well."

"We only have two opponents left, including Leviathan. Two uses should be enough, right?" Torsten looked around for support and was met with doubtful faces. "Right?"

"Not when Lancer can't use Gungnir and we have no true measure of strength of either Berserker of Leviathan. It's safe to assume both are far more dangerous opponents than any we have faced so far." Roux's blunt words silenced Torsten, but he knew she was right. They were in a much more haphazard position than he had imagined. "If it wasn't for last night, we may have had better luck with Berserker and Leviathan. It's kind of funny, you know? We were worried all this time about Torsten and I being able to handle Berserker's Master..."

"And now it is us Servants that have become the liability." Lancer was only half-joking, her sullen voice at odds with her forced smile.

"Oi, speak fer yerself!" Saber swung his legs off the table and onto the ground with enough force to make the table and everything on it jump. "There's nothing we can dae now but carry on. We jes' need tae play it smart from now on. We cannae let anyone get the jump on us like last night."

"I doubt Berserker or her Master knows we're here," Roux said, rubbing her temples as if to stimulate her brain. "Leviathan and that Saviour thing is a different story altogether."

Chevalier stood to remove the empty plates on the table. "The best way to eliminate the chance of being caught unawares is to act first. We need to strike first."

"That was the plan before last night anyway." Torsten looked to Roux. Despite her earlier energy, he could tell she was putting on a front. She was breathing hard and had subtly moved her hands to her chair to hold herself steady. "But we're going to need to put it off for at least a day. We're not ready to jump into the fight just yet."

Roux instantly thought to argue before Lancer put a hand on her shoulder. "That sounds like the best course of action right now."

"No," Roux insisted. She stood quickly to escape her Servant's reach. Light-headedness struck her, turning the world around her upside down. Both Lancer and Torsten leapt out from their chairs as she began to wobble around. Planting her hands firmly on the dining table before her, Roux cemented herself to the ground. "I won't be a hindrance. We can't afford another day of possible attack from Berserker." Lancer attempted to give her support only to be hastily waved away.

"Are you insane? You can barely stand up! Whatever energy you had this morning you've already used up. You need more rest." Rounding the table, Torsten attempted to emulate Lancer. His actions proved just as fruitless as the Servant's, Roux pushing herself out of his way and off the table. There was a single moment where it looked as if Roux had made a sudden recovery: she had regained her balance and her smug grin made it look like she knew what she was doing.

"Josephine!" Lancer shot out her arms to catch her Master who was unaware she was beginning to topple over backwards. The Servant caught Roux in her arms as Torsten only just realised what had happened, his human speed no match for Brynhildr. For her part, Roux lay limply in Lancer's arm, bewildered by the fact the world seemed to have rotated on an axis around her. Her confusion quickly turned to frustration as she found herself in the position of the victim once again.

At first, no one dared speak. While it was shock that held Lancer's tongue, Torsten knew there was nothing he could say now that would not result in his being bitten off. Lancer helped her Master upright, but made sure to keep a tight grip onto her, lest she attempt to prove herself strong enough to stand once again. There was an unspoken expectation that Roux herself would explain just what happened and there was the hope that she didn't delude herself.

"I'm..." Roux squeaked out a single word. The one word seemed to take its toll on her as her voice petered away into inaudibility. Lancer leaned in and Torsten moved in closer. Saber, while worried, kept his distance on the other side of the table. "Tired."

There was a collective sigh of relief as Lancer scooped up and carried her Master out of the room and directed herself towards her bedroom. Out of earshot of Torsten and the others, with only her Servant present, Roux spoke. "I can't take this."

The vagueness of her statement chilled Lancer to the bone. She couldn't think of anything to say in response to such a blunt declaration. For all the power a Valkyrie such as herself could wield, it meant little when her Master was in such a state. No amount of brute strength of fighting prowess could solve this problem. Despite her more subtle nature, Lancer felt that this was all she had to offer her Master.

Roux could barely stand to stay awake in Lancer's arms. As her eyelids became too heavy for her to hold open, Roux felt something soft and warm touch her forehead. She forced her eyes open to see Lancer leaning in over her, giving her a kiss. As suddenly as Lancer had planted her lips on Roux's head, she retracted and kept on walking. As much as the Servant would not admit it out loud, that was all she could think to do.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I apologise for the lateness in this release. Real life gave me a small case of writers block on this one.

Thankfully, I think this chapter turned out alright despite the late release! ^^

Tune in next time, hopefully a smaller delay than _this_ time. ;)


	33. Incertitude

Chapter 33  
>Incertitude<p>

Torsten, taking advantage of the fact Saber seemed to neglect training for the day, spent his time exploring Roux's mansion. If he had his way, he would have been keeping a close eye on Roux herself, but Lancer literally stood guard outside her Master's bedroom door. She insisted that Roux be allowed to just sleep and have some peace and quiet. Torsten would have argued a case to stay by her side, but Lancer had literally turned him around and sent him on his way with a push when he confronted her.

Not willing to wage a war, verbal or otherwise, with a Valkyrie he traipsed around the entire estate to fill the rare instance of spare time. It was a truly beautiful old house, as beautiful as either the main Roux or Amsel estates even if it was barely half the size. However, even if it was smaller, Torsten found the house an empty and lonely place. Despite Lancer's company, Torsten imagined it would have been a sad place to stay for Roux, especially considering she had not yet seen her parents.

Torsten felt the loneliness of the great house rub off on him before long, forcing him out into the back garden. It was a bland contrast from the ornate mansion. Apart from the hedges that lined the garden proper and rows of various different colours of roses, it was a distinctly plain green patch. However, the openness and fresh air was exactly what Torsten needed. The chill of night had begun to settle in the air, but Torsten it paid it little mind as he stepped out of the mansion and into the bracing cold.

As the young Master strolled across the grass, Saber formed in mid-stride beside him. "So Lancer turned ye away?"

"Quite literally," Torsten grumbled, rubbing the shoulder she had gripped to twirl him on the spot. For a time, he thought she had broken his collarbone. "I wish she would lighten up. She's not the only one worried about Jo."

"She's jes' doing right by our Roux. The lass probably just wants some alone time with her Master." Saber nudged Torsten hard enough to almost topple him over into a rose bush. "That means gettin' rid of your sorry arse I'm afraid."

Torsten mustered a taut smile and kept on walking. A silence fell over the Master and Servant as they continued down the garden. The quiet was exactly what Torsten had been hoping for, but Saber could only squirm in his boots at the awkwardness of the situation.

"Listen, I know you want tae be with her, but no one gives a Master a better pep talk than their Servant," Saber reasoned. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Hm." Torsten nodded, looking absent from the conversation. Saber saw fit to continue anyway.

"You want tae comfort her right? Tae tell her it'll be okay and reassure her, eh? Well, that's exactly the opposite o' what she needs right now." The Servant's bluntness didn't come as a surprised to Torsten, but Saber's accusatory tone did. "That's the worst thing tae dae now. She's needs tae be told what's what."

Torsten stopped dead. "And what _is_ what, Saber?"

"No matter whit problem she has right now, she cannae be pushing herself like an ijit. She's going tae ruin herself." Saber hesitated before pushing his point home. "She's going tae cripple any chances we have at winning if she doesnae get back on track."

"You're talking as if she's about to have a break down or something." Torsten couldn't help but feel his Servant was right, however desperately he wanted him to be wrong. "A bit of tough love isn't going to help build her up. It's only going to smash her down!" He began to lose composure, flailing his arms around as he spoke, his voice rising. Fear, more than anger, was destroying the calm he had fought hard to keep while not at Roux's side.

Saber placed a single hand on his Master's shoulder. He could feel Torsten was shaking. "Lad, I just said that ye know exactly what a pep talk from a Servant means, right? I didnae almost beat the pulp out o' you after that Cecile's death for jollies. You needed some tough love, so I did what I had tae dae."

Torsten's eyes narrowed. "I don't think Roux needs the shit beaten out of her right now. That's already happened."

"Are ye deliberately trying tae ignore what I'm telling ye?" Saber's voice began to rise from its already booming levels to a roar. "Dae ye really think Lancer would dae that tae her?" Before he let go completely, Saber had to close his mouth. He took a deep breath before speaking again, his voice low. "Roux is in a bad way and we need tae get her out of it. I can assure ye that Lancer won't be pummelling her intae normality, alright? I'm jes' saying that you can trust Lancer tae help her Master get better. I kicked you intae gear, Lancer can kick Roux intae gear."

Torsten couldn't meet his Servant's eyes. He was beyond the point where Saber scared him, even when he got angry, but he couldn't face the fact he knew Saber was right. He started walking again, hoping Saber would leave him to his thoughts.

"Got it?" Saber asked. He knew he had won, but he needed to hear it from his own Master.

Without looking back, Torsten answered. "Got it."

Saber sighed with a smile before spiritualising. _Irrational little shit sometimes. _

* * *

><p>For the first time since the beginning of the Holy Grail War, Berserker felt weak. With her primal vengeance complete, Assassin literally torn apart in her fury, her mind was at peace with itself. However, the battle with Assassin and his war machine had taken its toll. It had been days since sustaining her injuries, yet under the immaculate façade she had been able to heal, her burns and wounds continued to gnaw at her mana reserves. To use her Chariot now would be foolhardy, she vaguely knew. However, it was only her Master's whim that she would follow, like a puppet on tight strings. However, in Takeo Kinjo's fervour and obsession, he was blinded to his own Servant's ailing condition by the calming of her spirit.<p>

"My Queen, we are poised to win this Holy Grail War. I can feel it." Takeo reclined in the smooth, red leather chair of someone's home. He had not bothered to ask their names when he broke into their home shortly after the destruction of his let Berserker use their souls for sustenance. The corpses of a man and woman lay upstairs in their bedroom, in an unrecognisable state of putrefaction that was accelerated by the theft of their life-force. He knew that neither he nor Berserker would need the house much longer. "Please, you should sit."

Berserker stiffly sat across from her Master on duplicate of the chair he sat upon. Her size made it a strange fit, her legs alone being far too long. She stared blankly at her Master. Despite the various wounds he had sustained throughout the War, Takeo Kinjo was free of all but his scarred hand with which he grasped Breno da Rocha's flaming fist and a barely functioning left eye from James Cobb's cigarillo. His left eye in particular had taken careful and meticulous application of magecraft to reform, but he could not achieve any more than twenty percent vision return. However, it did not faze him.

"It would seem that only those two Masters that fled from us in the park remain to face us," Takeo explained to his Servant. "It would not be an unwise a guess to say they may be working as one. That boy spirited away the girl as fast as possible." He chuckled to himself, sounding like a low cackle. "I expect it would be little trouble for you to handle two Servants. However, a two on one fight something I have not done in a long time."

Berserker recognised little of her Master's monologue. Save for key words, such as 'Master', 'Servant' and 'fight', it was garbled nonsense. She found she lingered on the couple she had devoured. They had done little to replenish the mana she was slowly ebbing away, but it had been a small boon nonetheless.

"Perhaps I should use my trump card now." Takeo continued his musings, gazing at his scarred hand. "It's been a long time since I freed myself of my scars. It will be sad to see them go, but I won't have much reason to use it after the War and I will need both eyes for this next fight. Not to mention we have two ready and able bodies upstairs…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing. "And the pair of them would be far too decomposed to be used after using them as your fuel, my Queen!" Takeo sighed and slumped lower into the plush red leather.

"I was hoping to avoid anymore mindless tedium," Takeo groaned. "But it seems we're going to have to find ourselves a fresh and willing corpse."

It was at that moment that an urgent thumping erupted outside the living room. Following it was a female voice. "Rosemary? Are you in there? It's me, Adele." There was another round of thumping, leading Berserker to shoot straight out of her seat. As she made to charge at the front door, Takeo leapt up and grasped her wrist. She immediately went lucid and he focused on the woman that had arrived at the front door. "I'm worried! You haven't answered my calls for days, and neither has Gordon. Is the pair of you okay? Listen, I'm going to use that emergency key you gave me."

Takeo Kinjo couldn't resist the urge to let a sickening grin form across his face. "Or maybe one shall come straight to our door."

* * *

><p>Lancer locked the door to Roux's bedroom after entering. While she had not decided to take a bombastic approach and slam the door open, she made sure her entrance was heard. She turned from the door to find Roux stretching out on her bed, clearly asleep until Lancer had interrupted.<p>

_I hope I can do this_. Lancer hesitated at the door for a second, her hands behind her back. She felt oddly nervous, as if she was about to face Odin himself. Instead, Lancer found Roux sitting in her bed looking confused. _I don't know what's worse._

"What is it, Lancer?" She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. While coloured had returned to her face and she could sit herself up, Roux looked distant even after her sleep. "What time is it?"

Ignoring her Master's question and taking a deep breath, Lancer crossed the room to come to Roux's bedside. "It's time we had a little talk." She grimaced at how much she sounded like an overprotective parent. "Servant to Master." _Much better._

Roux looked away. She had been dreading this. It was obvious that what happened at lunch would not simply vanish into the void, however much she had willed it to before falling asleep. "I don't feel much like talking."

"Then how about I talk," Lancer said, annoyed Roux immediately defaulted to avoiding conversation. It only made her job harder. "And you listen. Feel free to chime in when you're so inclined." The Servant sat on the bed at Roux's feet. Making an attempt at exuding casualness, she pulled up one armoured leg to her chest. Remaining silent, Roux nodded.

"Master, it does not take a genius to realise that you are troubled. What happened this morning and this afternoon... I'm very worried. We all are. As your Servant, I need to make sure you're doing well." Lancer paused, hoping Roux would pipe up. Instead she looked everywhere but at Lancer. "And I would wager that while your body may be slowly on the mend, your mind is more complicated."

Roux hung her head, forcing Lancer to lean back in order to read her. Through the mess of her Master's hair, Lancer could see she had her eyes shut tight. "You're still feeling guilty about last night. But that can't be the only thing bothering you. No, Torsten was able to quell that problem somewhat." Lancer extended a hand and lifted her Master's chin. Lines traced by tears were visible on her cheeks. The burns from her Mystic Eye of Electrification had lightened considerably, but were still a stark reminder of how far she had pushed herself the night before. "Please, tell me what's wrong, Josephine. If not because I am your Servant, but because I care about you."

"I'm... scared." Roux croaked out her words as she tried to choke back any further tears.

"That's not unusual for a Master in the Grail War." Lancer spoke without thinking.

"It is unusual. We're supposed to be able to maim and kill as if it were as natural as breathing." Roux curled up her legs and hugged them close to her chest. Digging her fingers into her shins hard enough to leave red indentations in her skin, she let out a shuddering breath. "And I don't want to be that way. I don't."

Lancer smiled a knowing smile. "To fear your own power is a rather mature trait. The mere desire to restrain yourself, to not let your power control you, is enough to restrain power such as yours."

After hearing Lancer's comforting words, Roux only felt worse. "I killed him because I was angry." She confessed quickly, the words spilling out of her.

"What?" Lancer had hoped she heard wrong, for Roux's sake. Lancer had not seen or been told what had happened in Roux's battle against the Master Assassin save for Roux taking him down by herself. While she was shocked by his corpse, to know that Roux may have done that by the influence of emotion was frightening. Roux had explained her powers in full to Lancer just after summoning her, but the Servant found it hard to fathom the extent to which Roux could exercise them. By that point, she knew full well.

"I never wanted to kill James Cobb. I was a coward. I didn't want to face what Torsten did. But then he… He tried to use my dead body to toy with Torsten. He used my duplicate to try and break him!" She had begun to yell, her entire body shaking and her face contorted with fury. Lancer sat in stunned silence as her Master continued to berate herself as if she were only just realising what she had done. "So I decided on the spot that _I_ would break _him_. I saw Torsten on his knees, in pain, and all I could think to do was make that asshole feel worse! So I… I…"

The Servant dared not open her mouth as Roux struggled to find the words to finish her story. _This is worse than I thought..._

"I used my Mystic Eye to cook him from the inside out. I could have stopped at any time, I could have let him leave with his life, but I chose to kill him because I wanted him to die!" Roux buried her head in her hands. Once again she dug in her nails, this time into her forehead. Lancer was tempted to reach out and stop her before she drew her own blood, only to be interrupted. "And then I acted like nothing happened and Torsten and I..." Sobbing replaced words as Roux broken down into a quivering wreck.

Lancer didn't need to hear anymore. She didn't want to hear any more. However, there was something that eluded her logical grasp. "But, Josephine, why did you insist on rejoining the War if this is how you feel?"

"I just want my time in this War to end. The thought of sitting on the sidelines, left with nothing but the memories of what I've done... It's unbearable. The pain from my Mystic Eye, the rancid smell of burning flesh and the sight of him caving in his own head won't leave me alone." Roux shook violently as she spoke. The energy it took to explain herself almost made void any rest she had gotten from sleep, her face paling once again. The trails left by electrical arcs on her face held fast against her whitening skin, acting as a stark reminder of the night before. Lancer was thankful that Roux lacked a mirror with which she could see herself.

As Roux wiped tears from her eyes, Lancer found herself wanting to speak but unable to find the words. The Servant could not fathom the backward logic that her Master was using. It hurt to see Roux in such a state, on the edge of total disaster, but Lancer found it almost impossible to envisage her Master as the horrible person she made herself out to be. _The last thing Roux needs now is words._

Lancer turned straight to her Master, quickly sliding right up to her side, before wrapping her arms around her Master. As Lancer did so, she dismissed her armour, each piece bursting into light as she replaced her attire with a flowing white dress. The lack of cold, war-worn steel gave her embrace a softness and warmth that Lancer thought Roux needed.

"Wha..." Roux mumbled as Lancer pressed her Master's head to her chest. Lancer could feel Roux's tense body begin to loosen as the concoction of terror and anger that boiled in her veins ebbed away. Eventually falling limp, Roux couldn't even manage to return the gesture and lay in her Servant's arms lifeless.

"Foolish little girl," Lancer crooned, running a hand through her Master's hair. For all the Servant's sageness, she was at a loss as to what to do now. Roux needed more than what Lancer feared she could provide. However, as her Master's Servant, Lancer felt it fell on her shoulders to help her Master. _Ugh, this isn't the time to worry about myself. Josephine is the one that needs help_.

"You are not, nor will you ever be a monster. You're too good for that."

"That... That's too simple, Lancer," Roux's guilt argued, muffled by Lancer's chest. "How would you know that?"

"It's not too simple. What you did last night was evidence of empathy. You may have slipped, lost your control in a moment of madness, but you know what you did was wrong. You feel remorse." Lancer tried her best to explain, hoping her Master would listen. "This morning, you said you did not feel guilt over his death. I doubt that is truly the case. Your time with Torsten was a distraction from how bad you really felt." Roux remained silent as Lancer paused. "It's easy to convince delude yourself you've lost your way."

A mumbling affirmative sound was a relief for Lancer to hear. Breaking their embrace and putting her hands on her Master's shoulders, Lancer looked Roux in the eye. "That Master would have killed both you and Torsten if you hadn't done what you did. Do not misunderstand: that does not mean you must feel joy about your actions. However, you must realise that to do what you did does not mean you will become some foul amoral killing machine."

"What if it's too late? What if I'm already that killing machine and I just need something or someone to pull my trigger?" Roux's question was probing, testing Lancer's logic.

Lancer leaned in and planted a second kiss that night on Roux's forehead. "It is not too late. You are Josephine Roux, my Master. You are kind hearted and strong. Perhaps too innocent for your own good and, perhaps, not cut out to be a heartless Magus. But you are no monster."

"Lancer..." murmured Roux as tears began to fill her eyes once again.

Lancer wiped them away as they fell. "Now is not the time for tears. No, instead, you have to be strong. You are in no way ready to fight. At best, it's going to take another day before you are half-way normal again." Roux made a strange pouty face, unable to verbalise her objections. "That's not going to work on me. You may not like it, but you have to stay put and rest. You know you do not need to worry that you are becoming a monster, right?"

Roux gave a small nod, but didn't let the pouty face drop. "I'm still scared."

"And that is perfectly fine. You are not alone. I, Torsten and Chevalier are all here for you."

"What about Saber?" Roux asked, a pre-emptive smile beginning to form in the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, never mind him, he's an idiot. I can imagine what he thinks you need to get back in order." Lancer let loose her judgement without hesitation. The playful tone of her voice belied a certain hint of genuine frustration. Roux gave a snort. "What?" With little warning, Roux burst into laughter.

As her Master laughed, looking to the entire world like she was her usual self once again, Lancer was overwhelmed with relief. She knew that Roux was nowhere near back to normality, but to see her laugh so soon after almost selfdestructing was more than she could ask for. _One step at a time I suppose._

As Roux quelled her own laughter, she shook her head a little, looking delirious. "Oh, my head." She was as pale as she was at lunch, the emotional wear and tear of the past few minutes finally hitting home.

"You need more rest, like we all said." Lancer made to raise herself off the bed. "I'll leave you to get some more sleep."

Roux shot out a hand, taking hold of Lancer's wrist. "Wait, Lancer. Can't you sit with me a while longer?" Roux didn't know how to explain it, but she was overcome with loneliness at the thought of Lancer leaving her behind. Even though she knew her Servant all too well, knowing she would be standing right outside her bedroom door, that was too much separation.

"If that is what you wish, Josephine." Lancer swept herself up and onto the bed once again, moving around Roux to sit beside her. "Now try and get some sleep. I won't leave you."

"Thank you," Roux replied softly as she shuffled herself below her bed covers and shut her eyes. Before the gentle grip of sleep claimed her, Roux made a decision. _I'll tell him. I'll tell Torsten everything. _

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Another chapter down and much quicker than the last.

We're almost at that homestretch, folks! This is certainly what could be considered the calm before the storm. ^^

I hope you all enjoyed, and I'll have more soon!


	34. Rouge

Chapter 34  
>Rouge<p>

Guillaume Chevalier was at an impasse. As he sat in the deathly quiet lounge room, a half empty bottle of Merlot sitting on the table before him, the priest found himself contemplating his current situation with a sense of amusement. He had lost all track of time while he mulled over his fate. His duty as the observer of the Holy Grail War in shambles, he had only just begun to consider the implications of his own actions.

"A cosmic joke." The priest chuckled to himself, finishing the glass in his hand. "That's what this is." He abandoned the glass on the table beside the bottle. Chevalier eyed the empty side of the couch he sat on and was ready to stretch out and relax before the very air in front of him became distorted. Chevalier didn't try and restrain his groan.

"And what is _this_, eh?" Saber asked as he materialised on the couch beside the priest. He gave a quick look to the bottle of wine on the table before looking back to Chevalier with a grin. "I hope ye didnae jes' dae that in one swift wee drinking session, father."

The priest gave the bridge of his nose of a good massage before he replied. "_You_ are a cosmic joke, Saber."

"Very nice." The Servant crossed his arms in exaggerated offense. "I pop in tae give ye some company and you're already packing it in. Cannae blame you though. It's almost sunrise." With the less than subtle hint at the time dropped, Chevalier's jaw dropped.

"Hell, it's that late – early?"

"Indeed it is," Saber said. "But since you're up, I have tae talk tae ye."

Chevalier sighed. "Well, it's not like I'm going to get any sleep. What is it?"

Saber gave the entire room a quick search, wary for possible eavesdroppers, before talking. "It's about Roux – Xavier Roux, I mean."

"What about him? Josephine is the one you really should be talking to about her father."

Saber grimaced. "Like Lancer would let me talk tae her. Besides, she's probably asleep at this time. No, I need tae talk tae you. You said he might be hoping tae reach the Origin through this War, right?"

"I did say that, yes, but I have no proof. This is just an educated guess from my time with the man," Chevalier explained, feeling like he wouldn't have an answer for whatever Saber asked next. "Listen, the relationship I shared with him was almost business-like in nature. Both Xavier and Torsten's father, Richter, had made efforts to try and bridge the gap between Church and Magi. I was chosen as the representative of the Church to co-mingle and help in mostly academic ways." The priest snorted. "I was actually of the Templars, but the Church wished to prove that even it's most zealous sects and factions were willing to ease tensions."

"That sounds like a crock o' shite."

Saber's bluntness was refreshing. "Precisely. Where does your sudden interest in Xavier come from?"

"Torsten told me about our Roux's eyes. Specifically that Mystic Eye of Illusions. I cannae believe her own father would dae something like that tae her." As Saber explained himself, Chevalier couldn't help but notice the Servant had his hands clenched tightly enough that his knuckles were going white.

"I never did say if it was Josephine's choice or not."

"As if she would o' chosen tae have her eye taken out and replaced by herself," Saber growled. "I just thought that if he could dae something like that tae his own daughter…" The Servant hesitated, clearing his throat. "Then maybe he has something planned for her come the end of the War."

"The thought had crossed my mind." Chevalier stood up, smoothing the creases out of shirt and cassock. "But there is no way of knowing until the end comes. The last thing we need to do now is to burden Josephine with possibility her father is using her for more than the honour of the Roux family."

Saber grabbed the bottle of wine from the table and guzzled most of the remaining contents in one gulp, foregoing a glass. "Aye. Torsten would kill me if I brought it up."

"How is he?"

"The lad? Well enough. Acting like a little shite about our Roux, but well enough." Saber downed the rest of the bottle and slammed it harder on the table than was necessary. "He gets all riled up, thinkin' everyone's out tae get her."

In desperate need of a mirror, but making do without, the priest swept his hair back with a single hand stroke. "He's just being protective of her." Saber gave him a look. "Okay, _over_protective. They were separated for ten years, Saber."

"That doesnae mean he can imply that he's the only one looking out for her. Its nae good for either him or her," grumbled the Servant, looking around for another bottle of wine. "If he tries tae get funny wi' me again I'll smack the ijit right out of him."

Chevalier tried not to laugh. "All in a day's work for a Servant, eh? Just one thing: don't hit him too hard or Josephine might want to smack the idiot out of _you_."

* * *

><p>Groaning in agony, Takeo Kinjo awoke on the living room floor cold and naked. Thin orange lines of the sun's first rays were splayed across the floor in front of him, illuminating the gruesome scene he had created the night before. As his head pounded from within, he remembered what he had done.<p>

The shrivelled and hollowed corpse of the interloper to Berserker and Kinjo's conversation lay mangled underneath the orange glow. As Kinjo raised himself from the ground, he remembered how he answered the door naturally, the woman before him flinching in a moment of stunned silence. As she was preoccupied by his place at her friend's door, he was able to reach out for her, drag her inside and break her neck violently. She had instantly gone limp, dead in his arms.

Laying her dead body in the middle of the living room that Berserker had cleared for him, he had vague recollections of beginning the ritual he had created and perfected many years ago. He remembered undressing himself, taking up his sword and slowly, painfully, began tearing holes in his own body. He kept them uniform and symmetrical, one for each shin, one for each thigh and two rows of four up his torso. He remembered kneeling before the person he had just murdered and beginning the full verses to his magecraft, sealing the spell with its name: "Chi no gishiki." _Blood Rite_.

Kinjo remembered the tingle of mana flowing through his hand as he placed it on the corpse's forehead. It jolted at his touch, the dead body lurching violently as the spell began to take hold. The Master of Berserker stood back as his victim shuddered and jolted. The corpse's mouth had wrenched open of its own accord, violently enough to dislocate the jaw, and a coiling snake of blood burst from it. It undulated, wavered and squirmed like a living creature as more and more of its long body stretched out from the corpse and rose into the air, suspended by what seemed like sheer will. As more and more of the crimson liquid poured out of the body, the more and more the corpse jittered and shook.

The coiling blood had held itself steady for s second before coursing through the air towards Takeo Kinjo. It slammed into his chest, almost forcing him to his knees. As it made impact, it fanned out and began to coat his entire body, smothering the Magus from head to toe. For a tense number of seconds, everything had fallen silent as Takeo Kinjo stood entirely shrouded in the blood of the now shrivelled and motionless corpse before him. The Master of Berserker then, clumsily, fell to the floor wrapped in his crimson shroud and went unconscious as the spell completed itself.

Snapping out of his attempts at piecing together the events of the night before, he raised his hands and arms to his face. They were pristine and unmarred by battle scars both old and fresh to the Holy Grail War. The wounds he had opened the night before had done their job and let the fresh blood into his system. As it was absorbed, it was processed into pure prana and flooded his body. They were now all closed, and his body was free of any scars he had previously.

"That went far smoother than the last time." He flexed his burn free hand, marvelling at his own handiwork with both his eyes, his left fully functional once again. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Berserker standing solemnly in the corner of the room. "Your warrior is once again fit and able to fight."

Kinjo took up his discarded clothes and dressed himself, taking time to admire his pristine and chiselled body's newfound perfection as he did so. "To return to the battlefield whole once again, to fight two opponents at once no less, is nothing short of sublime. My Queen, your ascension to absolute rule is close at hand!"

* * *

><p>Sitting in the fresh morning sun, Torsten was tired and savouring the heat that warmed his bones. He hadn't attempted to get sleep the night before, spending his time wandering around the garden after Saber had left. All he could think about was Roux and what Saber had said. When finally he came to rest on the grass beside a particularly vivid red rose bush, he was just in time to watch the sunrise. "I feel like shit."<p>

"That's what you get when you get no sleep and spend your night out in the cold, fool."

Torsten turned to the source of the barb to find Lancer, armour shining in the sunlight, looking overly pleased with herself. "Morning."

Lancer, much to Torsten's surprise, ignored the sourness in his voice and sat down with him. A tense moment lacking in speech nor eye contact passed before Lancer opened her mouth again. "Are you not worried about Josephine?"

"I figure that if you've bothered to come and find me out here, she's probably doing just fine." Torsten gave her an inquiring look, to which she replied with a nod of her head. "I can deny I'm relieved. Is she back to normal?"

"She's still bed ridden. Well…" Lancer trailed off.

"Well what?"

"I've told her to stay in bed. She could probably manage herself around the house, but it is for the best if she has another day to rest completely. Guillaume should be fetching her breakfast now, I imagine." Lancer leaned back on the grass and enjoyed the warmth of the sun.

"Yeah, I'd say you're right. As long as she is alright, none of us can really complain." He noticed the Servant had closed her eyes and had a subtle but evident smile. "Out here to catch a few rays?"

Lancer furrowed her brow. "Rays? Oh, sunlight. I guess so. I was looking for you and Saber told me you were most likely still out here. It's been a long time since I could simply relax for a little while."

"I can imagine," Torsten said as he stretched and cracked his neck. Yawning, he knew that if Lancer had not shown up he probably would have fallen asleep where he sat.

"I'm surprised I didn't find you sleeping outside her door, you know." Lancer gave Torsten a playful nudge with her elbow. "In fact, it would be a lie to say I didn't expect you to actually try and sneak in thinking I wasn't there."

Torsten gave a small laugh. "After you sent me away, I almost lost my shit at Saber. He promptly almost lost his shit at me." He cringed just thinking about what he had said to Saber last night. "I'm going to have to apologise to him."

"Hm." Lancer gave way to the urge to close her eyes and drift away from the scene. She had ended up staying at Roux's side all throughout the night, content to just watch over her Master as she slept.

"I, uh, might go and see Jo now." Torsten stiffly raised himself off the grass. "Thanks for taking care of her last night, Lancer. I know it's your job, but you mean a lot to her."

"And she means a lot to me," Lancer added. As Torsten turned to head back into the mansion, Lancer felt a sudden jolt of fear. Before she knew what she was doing, she cried out. "Wait!"

Torsten almost fell over. "What is it?"

"I hope you remember that promise you made to me." Lancer spoke so softly Torsten had to lean in down to hear. He caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes.

"O-Of course I do. Why? What's wrong?" Torsten felt a cold sweat quickly form on his brow. _Lancer wouldn't kid around about that promise._

Lancer stared at Torsten for the longest time before replying. "It's nothing. Don't mind me, just go and see Josephine." With a quick and dismissive swipe of her hand, Torsten saw little room to argue and slowly turned on the spot to leave.

As Lancer watched Torsten disappear into the mansion, a chill ran up and down her spine. _I thought I might not see him again. What has gotten into me? _

* * *

><p>"So you're really feeling okay now?" Torsten asked, sitting with Roux on the bed. Reclining beside her, it assuaged his fears just to see some colour back in her cheeks. Witnessing her smile, which was slowly becoming more common, was a godsend. The burns from her Eye still made a web like pattern on her skin, acting as a constant reminder to Torsten at just how close to killing herself she came to. <em>I haven't seen her try to put anything on those burns yet.<em> Remembering what had interrupted his attempts at tending to her wounds, guilt quickly set in. _Oh, right. _That was when we..._ Right..._

Roux let loose the biggest groan Torsten had ever been on the receiving end of, tearing him out of his guilt trip. "My God, Torsten! You've asked me that at least eight times now! Yes, I'm feeling much better, thank you. You don't need to worry about me, you know? I'm doing just fine." She sat upright, her nose in one of her magecraft tomes. With little else to pass the time, the pair of them had picked up books and begun reading. It was a nostalgic feeling for the both of them, reading being a favoured pastime when they weren't exploring or making trouble.

"Okay, okay, fine. I just won't care then," grumbled Torsten, pouting as much as his lips would allow. "Just you see if I ever bother to take care of you ever again!" He received a book to the top of the head before he could continue further hyperbole.

"Oh, boo hoo!" Roux giggled. "But I'm serious. You don't need to worry about me, alright? It just makes me worry about _you_, dummy."

Torsten sighed. "I can't just flip it on and off like a switch." Without warning, he was struck be the powerful urge to yawn to which he succumbed instantly.

"And you spent all last night gallivanting out in the garden too! And don't deny it, Guillaume told me all about it." Roux's voice went low. "You could have gotten sick out there in the cold. What were you thinking?"

Ignoring the use of 'gallivanting', Torsten came clean. "Truth be told I was thinking about you. You scared all of us pretty good yesterday. I feared the worst, Jo. If Lancer hadn't stopped me from coming to see you last night, I would have been at your bedside the whole time." He rubbed his shoulder, remembering Lancer's vice-grip.

Roux leaned in close and gave Torsten a quick kiss on the cheek. "She was just looking out for me."

"Yeah, I know. She was the one who sent me hear this morning, remember? We're good." Torsten wrapped an arm around Roux, the pair of them abandoning their books. "I'm just glad you're getting better."

"Hmm." Snuggling up closer to Torsten, she remembered the promise she made to herself the night before. "Lancer? You're here, right?"

To one side of the bed, Lancer form out of thin air. "Yes, Josephine?"

"Do you know where Saber is?" Roux turned to Torsten. Before he even finished shrugging in confusion, Saber materialised on the opposite side of the bed to Lancer.

"Right here," he said as he stretched out as if only just having woken up.

"Uh, what's going on?" Torsten asked.

"I've got to explain something. I think it's best if everyone is present for it. It wouldn't be very fair if I only told you what I'm planning to say. Now, where is Guillaume?" Roux posed the question to Lancer.

"I'll go check downstairs," she said quickly before spiritualising in an instant.

As Torsten sat feeling lost, he felt something tighten on the hand he had wrapped around Roux's waist. Glancing at it, he found Roux had it clutched firmly within her own. He flipped his grip, returning the gesture. _Whatever she has to say... She really doesn't want to say it._

"So, what's goin' through your mind, lass?" Saber's voiced boomed over the silence of the two Masters. "If I didnae know about your Eyes, I wouldnae of figured ye as one prone tae keepin' secrets."

"Every girl has her secrets!" There was an obvious attempt at humour in Roux's voice that was rendered unsettling by the nervous waver that threatened to overwhelm it. Torsten felt her grip tighten so much that he saw her knuckles going white. "I just don't think mine should be so secret any more."

Torsten chose to ignore Roux's earlier warnings. "Are you sure about... whatever this is?"

"Remember after I..." The words caught in her throat. She forced them out. "After I killed Cobb I said I was being selfish and that I would tell you about it later? Well, now is later."

Before Torsten could reply, the bedroom doors creaked open. Chevalier entered first, holding the door for Lancer. "Lancer said something about you having to tell us something?"

"Yes." As Lancer and Chevalier stood on one side of the bed and Saber stood on the other, Roux took a deep breath. "I'm not going to beat around the bush with this. But, before I say what I want to say, I reassure you this does matter more than it's going to sound at first."

Receiving only solemn nods in reply, Roux had little choice but to forge ahead. Torsten felt her hand clench tight enough to hurt as she opened her mouth. "All of you know about my Mystic Eyes. By now, you should be brought up to speed on them save for one thing that Torsten in particular asked Guillaume about: the circumstances surrounding my Mystic Eye of Illusions."

She took another deep breath before the plunge. "I was sent to the United States as a child to gain the power of the Mystic Eye of Illusions. All I was told that I was being sent away from training. My father wished to augment our family line with something more than the already potent Mystic Eyes of Electrification. That involved the capture and murder of a Magus whose name that I have not learned to this day. If I am to believe my father, he was already on the bad side of the Mages Association, flagrantly utilising his Mystic Eyes without care of the secrecy of the Art."

Her explanation wrung mechanical to Torsten, as if she had rehearsed it hundreds of times in her mind. He could see that as Roux spoke, her eyes darted around the room frantically. For less than a second would their gaze lie on anyone in the room before flying off on a tangent elsewhere. Underneath the veneer of courtesy, her wandering eye laid bare her fear and her desperation for her own explanation to end itself as quickly as possible.

"I was brought to the man who captured and killed the owner of the Mystic Eyes. He was an agent of the Mages Association, one who normally hunted down those targeted with a Sealing Designation. A man named Ardashir. He had a deep black beard and tanned skin." Roux spat out his name, cringing at the sound of it. "I don't remember where it was I was taken exactly, but it was like a condemned home. My father told me that I was about to make the Roux family proud as he helped me into this ruined looking dentists chair."

"Ardashir walked in after my father, carrying a white box that he placed on a table next the chair," Roux murmured, eyes beginning to lose focus on anyone in the room. "I knew something was wrong, I knew it. But, I didn't say anything. I didn't do anything. Not with my father there." Lancer made to comfort her Master with words, but Chevalier stopped her with a tap on the shoulder. "I remember Ardashir said 'This is a risk to your line. What if this doesn't work?' and my father said 'It is a calculated risk'. Ardashir had a knife of some kind. It could have been a scalpel, but he had his back to me."

Roux's fractured memories became fractured thoughts. Torsten, Saber, Lancer and Chevalier listened in silence as she regressed into a piece of her past she had wished to forget. Disturbed, Lancer looked as if she was mirroring her own Master's pain, wincing at what she had guessed was coming next.

"I remember finally asking what was going on. My father said that I was being given a new 'power'. Ardashir turned around and I saw a flash of whatever blade he had in his hand. I almost jumped out the chair, but my father held me down by the shoulders. He leaned in from behind and whispered into my ear 'it won't hurt'." Roux raised a hand to her face, running it down and over her right eye. "I think Ardashir knew I would struggle again. I didn't see his hand, but he launched at my head and held it back. He…" She drew a circle around her eye with her finger, using her eye socket as a guideline. "He traced around my eye with the blade so fast I almost felt nothing." She paused, looking as if she couldn't phrase what was coming next.

"Ye donnae have tae push yourself," Saber murmured as low and soft as his usual gruffness would allow. Everyone but Roux herself found it unnerving more than anything else.

"I'm fine," she fired back sharply. She closed her eyes before she managed to speak again. "I felt warmth around my eye where the blade cut the skin. Suddenly, everything went black in my right eye. I screamed. My father kept trying to shush me, like I was a baby. I saw Ardashir's hand go past my left eye and over my right. I don't know what he did but I felt pain. It was sharp and like he was stabbing deep into my eye socket. I couldn't stop screaming."

Lancer gasped, placing a hand to her mouth, as Chevalier looked away, grimacing at the very thought of what Roux was describing. Both Torsten and Saber stared at Roux, both secretly wishing her story would be done soon.

"Finally, I felt a sickening pop and all the pain went away. Ardashir turned to the table with the box and retrieved something I couldn't see. I now know it was the Mystic Eye of Illusions. My father kept up his foul whisperings of 'Quiet' and 'It'll be over soon' while Ardashir disposed of something in a bin by the table. My original eye."

"It gets hazy from then on. Ardashir turned back to me, I struggled to get away only for my father to hold me down. He shouted something, then Ardashir shouted back. He pulled the blade up to his face, but my left eye was beginning to go blurry and everything started go misty." Roux sighed with a shuddering breath. "The last thing I remember is ungodly pain as Ardshir held the aloft the Mystic Eye before my face then what looked liked forcibly buried it into my skull. After that, I blacked out." At the end of her story Roux's body lost all the pent up tension that had been building.

Torsten hugged her tight. "I don't know what to say. I didn't want to imagine Xavier…" He cut himself off, only thinking as he spoke.

"But he did," Roux mumbled. "And this is the point of my story that concerns us all. My father, Xavier Roux, put his own daughter through hell to procure power for the sake of his family line."

Chevalier surmised Roux's point before she said. "And you think that he is putting us all through hell in this Holy Grail War?" The priest couldn't help but notice Lancer's dismay from the corner of his eye while Saber merely nodded in agreement.

"Yes." Roux had regained the composure lost during her tale and with it energy from her day of rest.

"And for what reason dae ye think he's doin' this?" Saber asked, leaning in to the pair on the bed.

Roux sat in silent thought for a few seconds. "I'm not sure on the exact reason. The only thing I could think that my father would require something as powerful as the Holy Grail for is to reach the Origin." Before anyone could begin to agree, Roux had to add one last thing. "But I have no form of proof. Only…"

"Only what?" Lancer finally piped up, her voice quiet.

"Intuition," she replied, knowing it was a weak answer. Looking at everyone, only Torsten seemed completely convinced. _Figures he's on board with it. _"I was trained for ten years after receiving that Mystic Eye to fight in this War. There was no reason other than that to give me this Eye other than some sick experiment for the sheer thrill of it. My father may be a sick bastard, but I'd like to think even that is too far below him. No. He's been obsessed with the Origin since my childhood."

"Are you trying to say he planned this for ten whole years?" Chevalier was incredulous, but trying hard to understand Roux's logic. "That seems farfetched, even if I do agree that he has something to do with this."

"I don't know if he set this up specifically, step by step, as far back as ten years ago. But he's the type of man to have contingencies for everything. I think my role in the War is just an avenue to the Origin he is pursuing," Roux explained.

Torsten frowned. "But it's not like he asked you to wish for anything in particular, right? How can you know he's after the Origin."

"Smart thinking, but you're forgetting that I'm not the only thing in this War sponsored by the Roux family," Roux said dryly.

"That fucking homunculus!" Saber cursed, slamming a huge foot to the hardwood floor. Everyone felt the room shake around them.

Lancer sat on the edge of the bed by her Master's side. "What does this mean for us, Josephine? Do you have an idea of what lies ahead if it is indeed your father behind the actions of the homunculus?"

"No I do not," Roux admitted. "All I know that is if my father is behind this, he will want deniability over the entire affair. In all likelihood, whatever his plans are, they begin and end with that homunculus."

"How the hell does he expect to reach the Origin through the homunculus?" Torsten asked.

Roux shrugged. "I have no idea. Like I said, I have no real proof; only intuition." She smiled for the first time since explaining her past. "Backed up with a little circumstantial evidence of course." She yawned, stretching out of Tortsen's grip.

"I think that's enough for one day. We can discuss this at length later. For now, you need to rest." Chevalier's order was firm.

Roux made a slow, languid nodding motion as she cracked her back. "Only if I can have a walk out in the garden first. I need some air and a bit of exercise."

Torsten glanced at Lancer who made a small submissive shrug. "In that case, I think I'll go with her."

* * *

><p>Torsten followed closely behind Roux, watching as she crossed the garden barefoot in a summer dress. She had gone silent since leaving her room and moving to the garden. It was obvious why, and Torsten knew it was a natural reaction after Roux's explanation, but it only made it harder to ask what he so desperately wanted to. He had hoped it would have been easier in private, but was finding seclusion did little to help. Especially now that Roux was enjoying basking in the sun.<p>

With little warning she dropped to the ground. Torsten fell forward in an attempt to catch her, immediately assuming the worst, landing face first into dirt and grass. Roux, sitting comfortably, turned her head after hearing a muffled groan of pain. "What the hell are you doing?"

Righting himself and pulling a piece of grass from between two teeth, Torsten mumbled. "Just tripping over my own feet." He looked up, hoping to hear Roux's laughter. He was met with a smile of a distinctly sad looking nature. Before he could open his mouth, she turned her head back around, hiding her face.

"So you're probably wondering what all I explained has to do with killing Cobb." Roux was blunt and cold. The lack of falter in her voice was unsettling, but Torsten was happy she had broached the subject first. Crawling up beside her, Torsten sat on the grass.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't think you really tried to explain it. Whatever it is, you want most of it between you and me only."

Roux gave an impressed snort. "It was a pretty flimsy way of saying what I wanted to say. But I mean what I said up there about my father." There was insistency in her voice, a desperation for Torsten to believe her.

"I know. After learning what he put you through and what for? How can I not?" Torsten put a hand on her shoulder. The sun had warmed Roux's skin already. "You can say what you want to say now. We're alone."

She rubbed her cheek against his hand. "I won't hold back then." She cleared her throat and turned to face Torsten in the eye. "I'd wager that Guillaume has probably made his own assumptions about why I did what I did. He probably got most of it right too, knowing him."

Torsten remembered that Chevalier had explained his own thoughts behind Roux's dangerous actions that night. He also remembered the terrifying feeling that he was the reason for everything she did. _He couldn't have been right about that. No way._

"I said I was being selfish and I wasn't lying. Taking on Cobb alone was just a way for me to prove that some good could come from what I went through." She paused, trying to observe Torsten's reaction. He looked worried, his brow furrowed. "I wanted to prove that what I went through gave me the strength to… To never let it happen again."

Roux looked away, across the expanse of the garden. "It's not your fault."

"What?" Torsten was caught off guard by Roux's sudden declaration.

"It's obvious you thought that I did what I did to prove myself to you. That's partly Guillaume's fault. I'd bet he put that idea into your head." She kept her eyes on the garden, not daring to look Torsten in the face. "And it's partly my fault for not explaining myself before I fought."

He was confused. "Then why did you say I needed to see it?"

There was a second of silence where Roux stared off into space, looking as if she never heard the question. "Because I wanted you to see me being strong. Then, I would have someone to tell me I am." She had to look at him once more. "I'm sorry."

Torsten, without thought, wrapped his arms around Roux. "Don't apologise."

"But…" She tried to protest, attempting to pull away.

"Just don't." As Roux moved back, Torsten held her at arms length. Confused, she didn't know where to look, but Torsten's gaze kept her locked on him. "You told me everything. That's all I wanted. That's all I need." He ran his hands from her shoulders up to her neck, then her cheeks.

Without anymore words, Torsten brought Roux close and kissed her. For a second, she tensed up and just stared at Torsten as their lips linked together. In a wave of relief and pleasure Roux let the embrace overwhelm her, falling limp into Torsten's arms as the pair sat in the warm rays of the sun.

Torsten released her, requiring the use of his mouth. "You're strong. So much stronger than you think. But you never have to fight alone again." He quickly kissed her again. Roux let him, rolling over onto the grass.

"Let's stay here for a while." Roux lay out and pulled Torsten closer. "It's warm…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

A bit later than I'd have hoped, but the real world has it's ways of distracting me even when I'm in the best mood for writing.

I hope you liked this one, and the next chapter should be on it's way soon! ^^

Tune in next time!


	35. Sang Rouge : Part 1

Chapter 35  
>Sang Rouge : Chasseur et le Chassé<p>

Saviour stared off into the night, his gilded blade in hand. With his Master now trying to conserve as much energy as possible before the Hellmouth could be opened, Saviour found himself alone with his thoughts for much of a day. The Servant sought out the loneliest place he knew of in Lyon and returned to the church where he was summoned. Sitting atop the steep roof, balancing himself at its very tip, Saviour found his thoughts straying to the golden haired Lancer.

The way her braided ponytail flowed and followed her every action. The way she gracefully and with such skill dispatched foe after foe. Everything about her was intoxicating. "But…" He began to talk to himself, his frustrating Master unable to toy with him. "She is an agent of a filthy pagan deity."

Saviour twirled his sword vigorously at the thought, trying to expend his quiet fury. "How can something so pure…" A sudden burst of rage tensed his arm. With one deft motion, he slammed his sword into the roof and stuck it there. "Be the product of such disgusting blasphemy." He spat out his ravings, eyes wild.

"I must make her mine…" he breathed, caressing the hilt of his blade. "I must save her from her own past." He stood, balancing perfectly on the thing ridge that joined the two halves of the church roof. "And if she cannot be mine…" He tore his sword from the roof and held it poised to strike at the empty air before him. "I shall destroy her myself."

* * *

><p>"So, feelin' less like a wee twat?" Saber grumbled, as Torsten made his way through the lounge room Roux's expansive mansion. The Servant slouched on the same couch Chevalier had used to waste the night before away. "Feelin' a little less like taking a swipe at your own Servant?" He took a large swig from the bottle wine he held in his huge fist.<p>

Torsten, merely passing through the room, froze on the spot. He knew what this was about. However, the urge to shrink under pressure eluded him. "I meant to talk to you about this earlier."

"Oh! Good." Saber straighten himself in the couch, placing the almost empty bottle of red wine on the table before him. "Then we can talk now."

"I'm sorry," Torsten began as he found himself sitting next to his Servant. "It was wrong of me to even imply you want anything but to protect me or Jo. You've been by my side since the beginning of all this, taken on more than a Servant really should and never let me go astray." Saber remained silent. "Can you ever forgive me?" The Servant took up the bottle of wine once again and skulled the remaining contents in one gulp. "Saber?"

Suddenly, almost blasting Torsten off the couch, Saber burst into raucous and hearty laughter. "Of course, ye wee git!" Grabbing his Master around the neck with a great hairy arm, he rubbed his head with his free hand. "Glad ye've set you're heid on straight!"

"Ow, ow, ow!" Torsten attempted to wrestle out of Saber's grip to no avail. Then it dawned on him. "This is punishment, isn't it?"

"You bet it is!" Saber roared, letting Torsten go just as he tried to tug loose. Tumbling backwards into the couch, he almost rebounded off the seat and onto the table. "So, how's Roux?"

Righting himself and subtly shuffling out of his Servant's reach, Torsten replied. "Oh, fine I guess. Full of energy, considering what's happened to her. She said that tomorrow is the day we need to start moving again." He paused. "I agree with her."

"If she thinks she's alright, then we can't exactly say no now, can we?" Saber conceded. "I'd like tae think she wants another day of rest, but that's nae like her, stubborn lass that she is." Sitting back down with a massive thud, he summoned his sword and retrieved a cloth from within a pocket in his trews. He proceeded to methodically rub down the blade. "And how are you faring, lad?"

Torsten was dreading this question. He knew it was coming, Saber being his Servant after all, but he had little to say. "I'm… fine."

Saber's interest was piqued. "Just 'fine'?"

"Yeah well…" Torsten struggle to articulate himself. "No I… I'm good. Honest."

"Donnae you make me beat it out o' ye, lad," Saber said, a dangerously smug smile spreading across his face. "You know how persuasive I can be."

Torsten sat conflicted. As much as he knew Saber would not scorn him, he felt like a coward inside. "I'm scared. Really scared." Expecting a bout of laughter, or some good natured jab, he steeled himself for the worst.

"What of?" Saber kept his eyes on his blade as he talked.

"I, uh," Torsten stumbled, not expecting to get a straight answer. However, relief quickly set in, let him relax and sink into the deep comfort of the couch. "I'm scared that I'm too weak."

Saber sighed, his meditative cleaning doings it's job to keep him calm. "Too weak to do what? I want it in full."

"I love Jo. I love her, but I'm too weak to protect her. You saw what she did to Assassin's Master!"

Saber cut in before his Master continued. "And she almost killed herself tae dae just that."

"That's not the point!" Torsten knew what Saber was trying to do. He knew Saber was trying to make him think more and feel less. However, Torsten's stubbornness was winning the war within his mind. "I couldn't do anything. No matter what she or Chevalier said, I should have run in to save her. At first I thought I did the right thing holding myself back like she wanted. But after hearing how she got that Eye…" He lowered his head into his palms. "I feel like I let her down."

"Has she said as much?" Saber asked. "I'd wager if she hasnae mentioned it, you're making somethin' out o' nothin'."

Torsten sunk deeper into the couch, hoping to disappear into the void. "It's not like she would come out and just say it."

Saber put his sword aside and looked his Master straight in the eye. "She just told us how she was forced tae have her eye removed then someone else's implanted in her. By her own father. If she had a problem with ye no' helping her, then she would have told you by now." The Servant could tell his words weren't getting through. "Listen, I saw you out there with her." Torsten gave him a dirty look. "_Through the window._ She's smitten. You're smitten. I have no idea what either of ye said tae each other, but I know she's happy. It's bloody obvious!"

"She hid her past as well as she did. What makes you think she isn't just hiding how she feels as well?" Torsten argued, fighting Saber's judgement and candour.

"Dae ye really think she would dae that tae you?" Saber asked with the hint of a smirk visible through his beard. Torsten opened his mouth to fire back, only to stop himself once his brain decided to process what his Servant had just asked.

_Do I? _Torsten asked himself, his feelings dawning on him clearly. _If I asked… I must really doubt her. _"I don't know what to think any more."

"Well I cannae tell ye how tae think, lad." Saber took up his sword again. "That's your own business. But I have tae ask ye something."

"What?"

"Have ye found it yet, that something worth winning this War for?" Saber asked, looking as if he was ignoring the recipient of the question. "Aside from your original promise of course."

_Father..._ The events of recent nights had made Torsten forget almost entirely about his promise and his father. "I… don't know." He doubted his answer immediately. The guilt he now felt, having forgotten why he was originally in the War, was immense.

"Ye donnae know?" Saber said, a distinct hint of a snicker sneaking through his usual gruffness.

"I…" Torsten began, biting his lip.

"Och, I suppose it doesnae matter as much now," Saber mumbled, notcing his Master's confliction. "It no like we're fighting to win the Grail now is it?"

Torsten let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah…" he mumbled unconvincingly. _What in the Hell am I fighting for then?_ "I'd best get to bed."

"Aye, off ye go. If we really are planning tae get on the move tomorrow, you'll need the rest."

* * *

><p>"Ready to go?" Torsten asked, poking his head into Roux's room. He found her in front of her dresser, tying her hair back before the mirror atop it. "Everyone is waiting downstairs ."<p>

"Yeah, just about." Roux looked at herself in the mirror. The weblike scars that spread out over her face from her left eye were a pale pink against her white skin. Running a hand down the lines of discoloured skin that weaved across her face, she found herself lost in thought. She could have made sure the scars faded, but instead left them be.

"Jo?" Torsten slipped into her room and shut the door behind him. "What's up?"

Her thoughts returned to the present and she swivelled around on the spot. "Hmm? Nothing!" Trying to walk past Torsten, she quickly shuffled to his right. "C'mon, let's go!"

"Wait," Torsten said, blocking Roux's escape. "Nothing?"

"Yes! Nothing!" She took a quick step to one side, only for him to quickly mirror her. "This isn't funny, Torsten." She looked away, turning her head to the left.

"It's… It's the scars, isn't it?" Torsten whispered softly, placing a hand against Roux's left cheek and turning her head to face his. He could feel the roughness of her scars and the softness of her skin as he caressed her cheek.

Roux gave chuckled, but it was laden with melancholy. "I decided I needed a reminder of what I did that night." She pulled Torsten's hand away and attempted as cheery a smile she could muster. "I think the permanency just sunk in. Don't mind me, let's just go."

"We could have gotten them looked at and healed up better…" Torsten murmured. He didn't know what else to say. If Roux decided she wanted to keep the scars, he couldn't see much room to disagree.

"No," Roux replied loudly and surprisingly bluntly. "This is what I wanted. I'm just a little…" She trailed off, her mouth moving as if she had muted herself without stopping the motion.

"What?" Torsten asked, only for Roux to clamp her mouth shut like a trap. "Come on, don't leave me hanging before we go out there tonight. If there's something wrong, tell me. I can help!"

"I don't want you to see them." She turned her head back to the left and took a step back.

Roux's answer was like a knife being slid between his shoulder blades. The very thought that she was ashamed before him made him guilt ridden. _But it's Jo's that's important now_. "Why? I don't understand…"

"It's a reminder to me," She began with a shuddering inhalation of air. "Of what I am and what I did. To you… It will just remind you that I'm a murderer."

"Do you really believe that I would think that of you?" asked Torsten, taking a step forward. He stopped Roux from backing away further, taking a hold of her hands. "I'll tell you what those scars make me think." He leaned in and kissed her, much to her surprise. She almost pulled away, if Torsten didn't quickly end the kiss himself. "They remind me that you risked my life for my sake, and saved me."

"That's…" Roux choked up. Torsten released her hands and she stood back, wiping her eyes. For a solitary moment, the pair stood in silence, both unsure of what to say. "We'd better get going, huh? They're waiting for us."

Torsten took Roux's hand in his. "Yeah, let's go."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure it was smart to tell Guillaume to stay at the mansion?" Roux grumbled, wishing she had brought some form of jacket with her. Shivering as the pairs of Master and Servants trudged down the frigid streets, Roux rubbed her arms vigorously to warm up. "We could use his help, if we find Berserker. We'll need all the help we can get to take down her Master."<p>

Torsten thought back to hours previous, refusing to let the priest go with them on their hunt for Berserker and her Master. He was taken aback, almost angry even, that Torsten had advised him to stay within the mansion's walls. "We'll be fine. It may just be us three Masters left, but I don't think it's wise to wander around with the Observer of the War. Anyway, if something happens to us, we need someone in safety to at least report to the Mages Association if we can't stop the homunculus."

"If we encounter the homunculus and it's Servant, it will most likely be kill or be killed." Lancer piped up, walking at her Master's side. "It's hard to fathom just how strong it is, so leaving the priest behind may have been a wise move."

"Or we could get overwhelmed without our handy wee clergyman and Torsten's killed us all," Saber chuckled, elbowing his Master in the side.

Torsten almost dropped the scythe he carried awkwardly over his shoulder, not quite used to hefting it around for hours on end. "Haha, very funny."

The group made their way down a street in the very centre of Lyon's business district. The more modern and contemporary facades of offices building melded and clashed in equal amount with the surrounding traditional French architecture.

A silence borne of tension fell over them as they rounded the block, beginning to head back in the direction of the Roux mansion. _May as well call it a night, _Torsten thought, wondering what time it was. He checked his wrist for a nonexistent watch. _We'll have to try our luck tomorrow. _

Saber froze on the spot. "Dae ye feel that?" He turned to Lancer, who had done the same. She gave a curt nod and summoned Gungnir to her hand. Saber formed his armour and blade, pushing Torsten behind him. "I think he's found us first, lads and lasses. Prepare yourselves."

"He's coming?" Torsten asked, flipping the scythe off his shoulder into his waiting hand.

A loud clattering of wood on stone became audible from down the street, building as the silhouette of some grand war machine came into view. Roux gulped, a ghostly pain shooting down her side as she remembered her last confrontation with Berserker. "He's here."

Lancer stepped forward, in front of her Master. "I won't fail you this time, Josephine. Berserker shall not reach you." She looked to the ever faster approaching chariot, now close enough for both Lancer and Saber to observe the hulking Berserker and her Master onboard. "We can't stay on the streets and fight that thing directly. Not without resorting to our Noble Phantasms right away."

"Then what dae we dae?" Saber growled, keeping his eyes on the approaching chariot. He looked straight at Takeo Kinjo and a sudden wave of dread washed over him. _What in God's name has he done tae himself?!_

Torsten, trying to stay calm, looked around the street for options; and escape, a battle plan, anything. His eyes landed up the glass exterior of an office building on the opposite side of the road from where he stood. Through the glass, he could see the entrance hall and lobby. "We need to get off the street! That chariot won't be useful indoors!" Taking off immediately into a run, Torsten broke from everyone else and charged for the office across the street. "Come on! We don't have time!"

Without hesitation, Roux took off after Torsten, Saber and Lancer quickly following without argument. "What's the plan once we're inside?" Lancer called out over the increasing thunderous roar of the approaching chariot.

"Separate Berserker from her Master, and do what we do best!" Roux shouted back before Torsten managed to. "If we can just get Berserker off the chariot, we can do this!"

Torsten reached the glasses doors of the building first, trying to open them by hand. Lancer swiftly followed, ignoring the doors and taking a flying leap straight though the glass walls. Roux followed through the broken opening in glass, grabbing Torsten by the arm and dragging him after her.

Saber stopped at the gaping hole, turning to see Berserker and her Master scream towards them at full speed. "It doesnae look like they're going tae stop!" Saber roared ducking into the building.

"Why need to split them up. Now!" Roux ran as far back from the glasses walls as possible, Torsten following.

"You two need to make sure Berserker can't follow us. We're going to have to head to the upper floors," Torsten said, motioning to Saber and Lancer. "Hold her back, and we can deal with her Master!"

While Saber kept an eye on the approaching chariot, not any more than twenty seconds away, Lancer swung around to face the two Masters. "You cannot be serious! You'll be cornering yourselves by going to the higher floors!"

Torsten and Roux ran to the stairwell door. Taking the elevator in a building where a raging Servant fight was about to take place was not wise, Torsten thought. "Which is exactly what will draw him to us, if you can preoccupy his Servant. We don't have time to argue about this!" He tried to wrench the door open, only to find it locked. Using the base of the scythe, he started battering the door handle.

Lancer made a face at Roux. In her Servant's eyes, Roux saw fear for her life. "I'll be fine. Torsten and I can do this together." Still looking unsure, Lancer nodded and made for Saber's side.

As Lancer did so, Torsten broke the door open. "We need to go now!" Taking one look back, he saw the chariot tear into the glass wall of the foyer, sharply turning so as not to crash into the back wall. "Now!"

Both Roux and Torsten charged through the broken doorway, taking the stairs in leaps and bounds as their hunters arrived below them.

* * *

><p>With an ear splitting crash, the chariot burst through the glass of the office building. The panes disintegrated as the chariot swung to collide with it sideways, the single horse at the front grinding it's hooves to provide friction and a pivot point. Berserker shielded her Master with her body against the shattering glass, but the horse was not so lucky. As the chariot tore through the glass, the horse was shredded to pieces and burst into nothingness.<p>

Leaping out of the way of the oncoming wood hewn war machine, Saber and Lancer separated one on each side of the chariot as it skidded past them and slammed violently into the back wall of the foyer, crushing the front desk in the process.

After a moment of creaking and shuddering wood, the chariot disappeared in a flash of light, leaving both Takeo Kinjo and Berserker standing ready for battle. Saber eyed up Kinjo, his earlier fears realised. "This is bad." The pristine, almost youthful appearance of Berserker's Master was troubling. "Just what has he done tae himself?"

"Deal with them, my Queen," Kinjo commanded, ignoring both Saber and Lancer to approach the clearly breached stairwell. Berserker immediately summoned her enormous spear and shield and flung herself at Lancer, who was closer by a metre than Saber.

The behemoth made a straight lunge with the spear, blocking counterattack with her shield. Lancer deflected the spear, but Berserker kept up her advance. With a collision with Berserker's shield imminent, Lancer could only kick-flip off of the shield, arcing through the air and landing far enough away to defend against further attack.

Saber kept his eyes on Takeo Kinjo as he made his way confidently to the stairwell door. As he reached it, he looked back, noticing Saber's gaze. "Aren't you going to even try and stop me?"

"Saber!" Lancer shouted, ducking a sweeping blow of Berserker's spear. A lighting fast glance in his direction allowed Lancer to understand what was going on. "They can handle him. I need your help, here and now!" She rolled backwards under another blow.

"You heard her, William Wallace. Go save her." Kinjo sneered as he turned to chase the fleeing Masters. _I just need to find the one door along the way that's been cracked open. Childs play. _

Scowling, Saber couldn't help but have the last word. "That's right, run you little shit. Go meet yer ain' death!" He spun around, charging Berserker from behind as she assailed Lancer, leaving Takeo Kinjo to curl his lip at Saber's audacity before making his way into the stairwell.

As Saber prepared to unleash a blow at Berserker's open back, she spun around and covered herself with her shield as she extended her other arm to force Lancer back and away. Saber's blade collided with Berserker shield. It barely budged, prompting the behemoth to push with, toss Saber aside as Lancer closed in to attack once more.

With an almighty scream, Lancer leapt high above Berserker and tried to drop onto her with Gungnir. Berserker flipped around, sweeping out her spear to keep Saber at bay while raising her shield above her head. Lancer landed hard onto the wall of wood, sticking Gungnir into it in an attempt to pierce it. Saber dodged Berserker's spear, rolling under it and forward, unleashing a massive uppercut.

Berserker arched her body away from the blade, it's tip millimetres from her as it soared upwards. It nicked the shield from below, unbalancing it and causing Berserker to flail backwards enough to throw Lancer off the shield and back onto the floor, where she landed gracefully on her feet.

"Tough bitch, isn't she?" Saber mused to Lancer from one side of the behemoth of a Servant. Berserker turned her head to the source of the insult in time for Lancer to speak behind her.

"Boudica was never a pushover. We have to be careful, Saber." Lancer straightened herself out. Berserker's identity was an obvious one given her stature, dress and the ornate royal torc around her neck. "Are you ready?"

Cracking his neck as Berserker's cold emotionless eyes stared at him Saber raised his sword, ready to take the plunge into battle. "Aye, I'm ready."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Ah, another chapter down!

A bit on the short side, but things are just getting started here.

It could be said that this is the beginning of the end! ^^

Tune in next time, folks!


	36. Sang Rouge : Part 2

Chapter 36  
>Sang Rouge : Ombres<p>

Torsten and Roux arrived at the fourth floor of the office building exhausted. Breaking open the door, they found themselves in an open planned office, with low cubicles and tables upon which rested computers, papers and the belongings of employees. Navy blue carpeted floors spread across the entire room, with almost all furniture and stationary a pristine white in colour.

"Shit." Torsten ran into the office, breathing hard and dearly wishing he could just collapse to the floor. "I was hoping we'd have more cover than these things." He made sure Roux was at his side.

Also gasping for breath, Roux was a step behind him. "Why? What was your plan?"

"Well, I had the idea when I ran to the building we could use the cubicles to hide ourselves. If that guy can keep Berserker in check, he's no pushover of a Master." Torsten noticed multiple enclosed personal offices on one side of the room, away from massive glass windows that looked out onto the street. Moonlight and lamplight flooded the entire floor, creating long, black shadows that crisscrossed the lines of cubicles and created pools of deepened blue on the carpet. "I don't think we can take him head on. I'd say he killed that Master you were fighting with in the park where I saved you incredibly easily. He did not look like a pushover himself."

Roux snorted. "If he had not been so arrogant and self-absorbed, Breno Da Rocha may have given me a fair challenge." Pausing for a second, she slapped her own forehead. "We don't have time for this, listen to downstairs!"

Both Master froze and went silent, listening to the clattering of metal on metal and the deep thumps of metal on wood. "It's started," Torsten said, beginning to move once again. The impact of the chariot on the inside walls of the building had reverberated up the stairs as they had climbed them, but not it was clear battle between the Servants had begun. "We need to find somewhere to hide ourselves."

"One of the offices will do," Roux said, following quickly behind.

"That's too obvious. We may need to stash ourselves underneath desks out in the open." Torsten weaved between the aisles, looking for an optimum place to hide themselves.

Roux tugged on his arm. "You can't hide that scythe lying on the ground under a desk. We need to hole up in one of the rooms!"

"Shit, you're right."

Roux looked at the individual offices that covered one wall of the floor. All of them were individually glass walled with glass doors. "But none of them seem very secure…" She looked to the other side of the room and found a single box of a room that lay before the windows to the outside. "Except that."

"Which means he'll go there first if he's a smart one," Torsten said, striding to the little room, weaving between aisles of desks. Peering in the glass door to the box he found it was a small kitchenette. "But it's an option."

"Shhh!" Roux hissed, Torsten obeying immediately. It had gotten quiet downstairs, save for the odd clatter and bang of weapons and shields. However, it was the distinct and rhythmic tapping of feet on the steel staircase that made both Master's skin crawl. "He's coming!"

"Shit," Torsten cursed, looking around the open plan office once more, trying to find something to hide them. He came up with nothing. _Wait._ "Okay, I'll hide in here," he said, gesturing to the kitchenette. "Find somewhere you can stash yourself. He can only attack one of us at a time right? Whoever is found first holds him off until the other can get him while he isn't prepared for a second attacker!"

"That's so dangerous…" Roux said, grabbing at Torsten's arm as he turned to conceal himself in the kitchenette. "What if…" As much as the inevitability of being found was clear to her, Roux held reservation about Torsten hiding himself in such an obvious location.

"We don't have time!" Torsten listened closely to hear the footsteps coming closer. "Find somewhere to hide! If he finds you, I'll protect you, just hide! Now!" He planted a disarming kiss on her lips before quickly diving into the kitchenette and closing the door behind him.

"Augh!" Roux growled in frustration, spinning around to find a proper hiding place. _This is utter insanity. _She ran to a glass walled office, which she could see housed a larger desk than the others. _Manager's office probably._ Entering, and then shutting the door behind her, she ducked underneath the desk. It had a backboard, letting her curl up underneath the desk to become almost invisible. _But I need to see if he's coming or not…_ She flattened herself out, lying on her stomach, and used the small gap between the backboard and floor to keep an eye out for the Master of Berserker. "I hope this works, Torsten…"

* * *

><p>The faint glow of moonlight floated through the stairwell door as Takeo Kinjo approached it. He took his time, walking at a steady and comfortable pace so as to keep himself in-check until he could unleash himself up the pair of Masters. His knuckles tightened in anticipation of the bloodbath he was sure he would unleash. <em>Two versus one! What a rarity. I shall have to savour it.<em>

He reached the door to the fourth floor, poking his head around its frame. Inside the office that was lightly bathed in soft light from the outside he could see nothing in the way of traps or opponents. _So this is the game they want to play? Fine. _

Disregarding any attempt at checking for further magecraft snares, he confidently walked into the office and observed every nook and cranny of it he could from his standing position. He couldn't help but scowl, even if no one was there to see it. "So you intend to hide yourselves? Unless you show your faces, what little mercy I, Takeo Kinjo, have, will not benefit you." He paused, hoping his words would reach his prey. After a period of nothing but the climatic sound of battle four floors below, he lost his composure. Through tightly clenched teeth, he growled. "Fine. If you wish your deaths to be as slow and painful as I can make them, then so be it!"

* * *

><p>Torsten slumped against the wall of the kitchenette next to the door. He had frozen in place as Kinjo had entered the room and made his presence known. The relief that his opponent was brash enough to reveal his presence paled in comparison to the pure fear that now threatened to eat away at his insides. <em>Hiding was a bad idea. And now I've just put Jo in more danger by pissing him off.<em>

Focusing as hard as possible, Torsten attempted to listen for any more sounds from Takeo Kinjo. Try as he might, he couldn't make out anything. The floor outside the kitchenette being carpeted made footsteps impossible to hear through walls. _This is so ba-_

Suddenly, there was a massive splintering crack from outside the glass door. Torsten jumped, his scythe flying out of his already sweaty grip. Before there was a chance to think about the cause of the noise, Torsten shot out both hands to catch his weapon before it clattered to the linoleum floor of the kitchenette. He caught the handle cleanly in one hand, but ran the side of the other hand against the vicious inner side of the scythe's blade. He bit his lip hard to stop himself from making any more than a restrained groan from the pain. The scythe rested atop his right hand, the blade still dug into the flesh, when blood began to drip from the cut.

Then another loud noise, this time terrifyingly close; the harsh crackling of plastic and shattering of glass exploded from the other side of the kitchenette wall, just above where Torsten sat slumped. Instead of letting fly his limbs, he curled up as he jolted in fear, refusing to let the scythe in his hands go. _He's trying to scare us into making a stupid mistake!_

* * *

><p>From the opposite side of the room, hiding under the desk, Roux looked on as Takeo Kinjo obliterated a table with an earth shattering axe kick before tossing a computer monitor at the wall of the kitchenette. <em>Don't move, Torsten!<em> She pleaded to herself. _Don't move a muscle!_

For a tense number of seconds, Kinjo stood eerily silent, his back to Roux and facing the kitchenette. Sure that someone would have hidden themselves in the kitchenette, he wished to lure them out without risking himself. Roux saw him flex his free hand, clenching and unclenching it into and out of a fist. In his other hand he held his sword, still in its scabbard.

_Now what do we do… I can't talk to Torsten, and I'm too far away to ambush him without using…_ Roux snapped shut her eyes. _No… Not yet._ She dug her fingers into her crossed arms. The thought of using either one of her eyes at the point was premature, but the fear that she couldn't when the time comes loomed in the corners of her mind.

Kinjo swung around on the spot peered in Roux's direction, observing the glassed walled individual offices. His face was devoid of any emotion. Somehow, this was more petrifying than the sick face he had when he walked into the room. "The pair of you are trying my patience." His voice was as equally chilling, only carrying across a complete lack of empathy. "Both of you have no backbones. Pathetic."

He looked to one side to find another computer monitor. Tearing it from its cabling, he tossed it across the room, directly at the glassed walled office Roux had hidden herself in. Time slowed as Roux observed the monitor arc through the air and crash through the glass before the desk as if it were nothing. The monitor began to fall quickly, slamming into the desk above Roux, skidding to the back edge of the desk and threatening to fall off to the floor. To her own dismay she let out a small yelp of surprise. As soon as she had, she slapped both hands on her mouth as if to try and recapture the sound she just made.

Kinjo's eyes widened as the sickest smile Roux had ever seen began to form on his face. She couldn't help herself say it. "Shit!"

Kinjo took off from a complete standstill to a full speed sprint in a single instant, utilising an almost inhuman burst of raw energy. Now that he had cornered his prey, he was not letting it escape. "Like I said!" He roared, bounding towards the broken window like a man possessed. "Pathetic!"

Roux desperately tried to wriggle back from out of the desk, however, she quickly realised that by the time she stood up it would be too late: Kinjo would be upon her. Instead, she threw herself up and forward at the desk, toppling it over as she stood tall. The monitor that hand landed on the desk was catapulted into the air once again, returning to its sender as he reached the broken glass of the office wall.

In one lightning fast motion, Kinjo drew his sword. Losing no speed, he unleashed an upward slash as follow through from unsheathing his blade. As the monitor made to obliterate his face, his sword flew through it like it was nothing, cleaving into two halves that separated and barrelled past either side of his head.

Jumping back, slamming into the office wall behind her, Roux found herself trapped with no escape and the maddened Takeo Kinjo leaping straight for her. She flung herself to one side as he brought down his sword, its tip slicing through the thin plaster wall. As Kinjo twisted himself around to let loose a horizontal swipe to take off her head, Roux ducked low and delivered a vicious punch into his side.

Despite aiming for the soft area of the kidneys, she found her fist colliding with what may as well have been steel. His abs were strong enough to give her more pain than she could impart upon him. She retracted her arm fast enough to avoid a blow from Kinjo's scabbard that would have surely broken her arm. Roux leapt back entirely, just in time to avoid him follow through with his sword.

"You really should have just come out when I told you to." Kinjo cracked his neck as he spoke, twitching and jerking as if he was holding back the incredible urge to gut the girl standing before right then and there. "You've made it much harder for me to resist simply outright murdering the pair of you. Where is your little friend, by the way?" He licked his lips. "It won't do to kill either of you without the other here to watch."

As Roux took a faltering step back, there was a clatter from just outside the office. Both combatants turned their heads to see Torsten take a flying leap through the air, scythe aloft and screaming bloody murder. Kinjo smirked. "Speak of the de-" Interrupted mid-sentence from a full force kick to the stomach from Roux, Kinjo made a small gasp and blanched. Roux backed off just in time for Torsten swing his scythe directly at the Master of Berserker.

The razor sharp blade of the scythe drove through Kinjo's back, tearing through his right lung. The force behind the blow was such that the very end of the scythe protruded from his chest, blood quickly trickling down to the tip and spilling to the floor. Gasping desperately for air, he looked at Torsten with his head cocked to one side as blood began to pour out of his mouth. On his face was a mix of horror and hatred, his features contorting and twitching erratically.

"He's done…" Torsten sighed, keeping his eyes on Kinjo. The impaled Master tried to lift his arms, tried to take a swing with his blade, but he struggled to even keep his grip on it. Torsten held his scythe firm in any case, hoping Kinjo would pass quickly. However, Torsten had the feeling something was wrong. "Wait… You look different…" As Torsten tried to think back to the more decrepit and worn looking Takeo Kinjo he saw in the moonlight of the park when he saved Roux, Kinjo suddenly coughed a gout of blood over the young Master's face.

Looking away with eyes snapped shut as the thick red liquid splattered across his features, Takeo Kinjo became once again animated, wrapping an arm around the handle of the scythe embedded in his chest. He pivoted his body at the hips, stealing away Torsten's solid footing as he jerked it and swung himself around violently. Torsten was pulled by his very own scythe into a collision course with the wall behind Kinjo. He hit hard on his shoulder, jarring his grip on his weapon.

"Torsten!" Roux yelled, attempting to unleash another kick upon Kinjo. Her attack was thwarted by a precise counter blow by Kinjo's scabbard. Roux's foot collided with the rock hard scabbard and was stopped dead in its tracks. Kinjo quickly withdrew it, all of Roux's momentum now gone, and swept low with it, tripping her over.

As Roux fell to the ground, Kinjo repeatedly slammed Torsten against the wall until the young Master totally lost grip of the scythe, slumping to the floor in massive pain. He looked up to see Kinjo use his arm wrapped around the scythe to act as leverage to pull the scythe out of his back with a slick, sickening sound and the harsh crackling of broken ribs.

Torsten looked Roux and found her staring at Kinjo from the front in disgust, scrambling backwards on the floor to get away from him. As Kinjo finally wrenched the scythe clear of his back, tossing it out of the office with one tight throw, Torsten saw what had Roux so disturbed. Almost as soon as Kinjo had torn the scythe from his own body, the gaping hole in his back began to stitch itself together, as if his body was rebuilding automatically.

"Good. It seems the pair of you are ready to stop hiding like children and fight like adults," Kinjo said, his voice oozing with ecstasy. He turned to Torsten, still floored and looking up at the Master of Berserker. "Two against one." He quivered with joy at the very thought. "The final battle that will decide my Queen's victory over all shall be a thrilling one indeed."

* * *

><p>Sent flying through the air, Saber was catapulted onto the streets of Lyon once more. During his flight, caused by a sweep of Berserker's spear that came close to bifurcating him, he collided into a street lamp. As his armoured body crumpled the metal trunk of the light, the bulb fell out its socket and exploded into thousands of tiny glass shards upon hitting the road.<p>

As Saber slumped to the pavement, he twisted himself to land on his hands and knees, trying to avoid skewering himself on his own enormous blade. Quickly raising himself to his feet, he ran back into the office building, witnessing Lancer's attempts to out manoeuvre Berserker as he rushed in.

Lancer was clearly the lithest of the pair, but Berserker had the instincts of an animal, pre-empting many of Lancer's evasive tactics and forcing the golden haired Servant to shed any hope of counterattacking and concentrate solely on avoiding a fatal blow. As Saber charged back into the foyer, Lancer caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. "I could use some assistance!"

"Clearly!" Saber bellowed as he lunged at Berserker from behind. The behemoth failed to relent her attack upon Lancer and instead, without even glancing once at Saber, swept out her shield behind herself. It deflected the Saber's sword, allowing Berserker to let loose a mighty spin with her spear at both Servants.

Lancer jumped back to avoid the deadly tip of Berserker's spear, while Saber made to block the blow. Raising his Claidheamh Mòr, Saber braced himself. The very spearhead of Berserker's weapon slammed hard into the Scottish Servant's Noble Phantasm. Saber was almost blown over, his armoured feet grinding against the floor as the sheer force behind Berserker's attack pushed him against his will.

As Berserker began to refocus on the Servant that had dared to block her spear, Lancer made to launch her own counterattack. However, she caught a sight of Saber's strained face. He was staring straight at her. He gave a small but clear shake of his head that seemed to say 'Wait'. Before Berserker had a chance to continue her assault with her shield, Saber, letting loose a might roar, wrenched his sword down on the spear. He forced the massive spearhead down and into the ground, shattering the tiles that made up the floor. Saber kept his blade locked over the spear, restricting it's movement. Berserker tried to tug at it to no avail. Looking to Lancer, Saber bellowed. "Now! Attack now!"

With no hesitation, Lancer made a deft thrust with Gungnir. Berserker, attempting to bat away Odin's Spear, flailed out with her shield. However, Lancer was too smart for that to work. Before the shield made contact with Gungnir, she retracted it. Berserker's wild swing went too far, exposing herself again to Lancer's fury. "I have you!"

As Gungnir's deadly tip closed in on Berserker's head, the behemoth's eyes went wide. In an absurd burst of speed, Berserker released the grip on her own spear and shield. As both her weapon and defence fell to the ground, she swept up a hand and swatted away Gungnir. Her blow diverted it, but the bladed tip cut a thin line of red across her cheek. Lancer, caught off guard, didn't notice that as Berserker smacked Gungnir to the side she had wrapped her hug hand around the spear shaft.

Saber kicked away Berserker's spear the moment she let it go, sending it flying across the foyer. Berserker, however, already had a firm grasp on Gungnir and quickly took advantage of the fact. She pulled at it sharply, ripping it upwards. Lancer held fast, but Berserker's strength was such that she easily wrenched Lancer off of the ground. Before Saber could help, Berserker had already begun to whip Gungnir around, Lancer still attached. "Oh shite."

In a smooth spinning motion, pivoting on her heels, Berserker swung Lancer around and right into Saber. The Servants violently collided, Lancer collecting up Saber into Berserker's spin. However, the extra weight only made Berserker speed up in her spin, accelerate through a full rotation then finally releasing Gungnir. The pair rocketed through the air, heading directly for the back wall of the foyer. Saber wrapped himself around Lancer's smaller frame, bracing the pair of them for impact. They hit the wall hard, the marble cracking and exploding underneath their combined weight. The impact was so hard, the pair were embedded in the wall for a second or two before falling to the fall in a limp heap.

Berserker took up the shield by her feet, before gazing around the room, looking for her spear while Saber and Lancer tried to regain their feet. Lancer, still holding onto Gungnir, clumsily rose to her feet first, shaken but almost completely unscathed. "Why…?" She gasped, taking up one of Saber's arm to help him to his feet. "You shouldn't have tried to take the force of that by yourself!"

Saber's efforts to endure the blow for the both of them had taken it's told on him, even when he was armoured. He could feel he had some broken ribs and his head was aching. "Like I was gonnae' let you take any o'that." With Lancer's help, he got to one knee before falling onto all fours as pain shot up his back. "I'm… too slow tae handle Berserker. You're much faster. We cannae have ye get injured."

Lancer, suddenly feeling a surge of anger, wrenched Saber to his feet as he howled in pain. "So that means you put yourself in harm's way on my account? I won't have it!" Lancer's unusually emphatic complaints drilled into Saber's already aching head.

Pushing Lancer away to test his own ability to stand, he lifted his sword and looked to Berserker. "Just… concentrate on the fight, alright? I'm fine. Donnae you worry about me." Berserker had reached her spear and picked it up, slowly turning to face her two combatants. "I think she's trying tae enjoy this fight. She's playing with us like toys." He turned to Lancer, who was still looking ready to bite his head off. "Listen, your Noble Phantasm is our ticket tae winning here, but it's only promised a sure hit, right? Not a guaranteed kill shot? I need tae get her in a position for ye tae use that Gungnir o' yours and get it right the first time." He cracked his neck and began a steady march towards Berserker. "Otherwise, we're not makin' it out o' this fight alive."

"What about _your_ Noble Phantasm?" Lancer asked, quickly following.

Grimacing, Saber grumbled. "My Noble Phantasm gives us no guaranteed win. I can change the tide of a battle, I can protect us, but it's unlikely my armies or the bridge will dae us much good against this monster." He shook his head as if convincing himself as well as Lancer. "No, it has tae be yours."

As Berserker waited for her opponents to make the first move, Lancer grabbed Saber by the shoulder. "Promise me that you won't let Torsten down then, and we have a plan." Turning the Scottish Servant around, he met her piercing eyes. She was as serious as ever.

"Like I'd let him down by choice." Saber jerked her hand away from his shoulder and faced Berserker once more.

"So is that a promise?" Lancer insisted, catching up to walk side-by-side.

"Aye, it's a promise."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Things are beginning to heat up! I hope this proved to be a good setup for the full on fight, because there's more to come.

I hope you all liked the chapter. ^^

Tune in next time!


	37. Sang Rouge : Part 3

Chapter 37  
>Sang Rouge : Bêtes Jumeaux<p>

Leviathan sat comfortably perched on the corner of an office building, trying to peer into the madness that was the conflict below. He and Saviour had arrived there too late to see anything but Berserker's chariot careen into the bottom floor of the office building. While he was disappointed he could not see much of anything from his position, he could not help but be amused by his Servant's desperate nerves.

"I suppose you are glad I did not opt to miss this particular fight?" Leviathan asked, looking to Saviour. He stood tense beside Master, his palm resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword while his fingers rapped its grip furiously. Judging by the strained expression on his face, it was only Leviathan's will that held him at his Master's side.

For a moment, it looked as if Saviour would ignore his Master's bait. "I will be glad when it is all over and I can claim her," the Servant finally grunted.

"You know she may not survive this little conflict, don't you? Of all Servants your obsession could be facing, this is the one Servant that may just destroy her." Leviathan's grim words were accompanied by a sick sneer.

Saviour let out a shuddering sigh. "That won't happen. She's mine. I won't let it happen."

"You would directly interfere to save her?" Leviathan asked, struggling not to laugh. "How… kind of you."

Turning to his Master, knowing that he was playing mind games, Saviour made his reply with absolute seriousness. "I either make her mine, or she dies by my hand. No one else can have her but me."

"Oh, Saviour." Leviathan had to chuckle. "I did not expect Archangel Michael himself to be so proactive in the saving of heretical souls."

* * *

><p>"Now, now," Kinjo said, rubbing the fresh closed wound on his chest. "Don't lose your nerves. You only just found them. Let me and my body get in the way of your own confidence and I'll murder the both of you without even trying to hold back." He stared at the young Master slumped on the floor before him. He could tell that his Blood Rite's regenerative properties had already shot Torsten's confidence instantly. Kinjo heard the sound of shuffling on carpet behind him.<p>

Roux rose to her feet quickly, keeping her eyes fixed on Kinjo as he turned to face her once again. "That's some potent regeneration magecraft." She fought to keep herself sounding confident, trying to distract the Master of Berserker long enough for Torsten to put some distance between himself and Kinjo. "How many lives went into the creation of something such as that?"

Kinjo snorted, impressed. "And how would you know if I killed to achieve this spell?" As the pair began to speak, Torsten began to slowly slide back from Kinjo. He tried to be as quiet as possible, even with the Master already distracted by Roux's inquiries.

"Any form of healing that powerful without a constant usage of mana or some kind of item has to have been…" The word caught in Roux's throat at the thought. Kinjo's eyes narrowed at the miniscule sign of weakness. "Sacrificial in nature." She looked Takeo Kinjo up and down, his sword and scabbard each in separate hands. His knuckles had gone white from gripping both as tightly as possible. "I wouldn't put it past you to kill anyone that got in your way regardless."

"May as well put them to good use, eh?" he joked. He flexed the fingers on the hilt of his sword. Roux could see his patience was beginning to wear thin. "I hope that theoretical astuteness translates to deft application in combat." He took a single step forward, to which Roux's first instinct was to quickly jump backwards.

She bit her lip, the pain clearing her mind. _Calm down, calm down! I can't let him win before the fight has already started…_ He took another step, the distance between him and Torsten increasing as he grew ever closer to Roux. She took her eyes off Kinjo for a split second, checking how close to the wall she was. There was only one more step she could take before she was cornered. _We need to get out of this room and in the open._

Torsten, standing, took a quick moment to check his left hand. The cut made by his own scythe had stopped bleeding, but still hurt. The ache in his right shoulder from being slammed into the office wall was dull, but persistent. He looked out of the office to see the scythe on the floor, a few metres from the office door. _I'm not going to be able to do anything without it…_

Roux started to move to the side, closer to the broken glass front to the office and the open door. Kinjo followed, slowly matching her pace, an animal stalking his prey. Torsten couldn't tell if he was paying him any mind, but without his scythe he knew he wasn't going to be able to do much. _If even my scythe got shrugged off, I might need to…_ He looked at his right hand to see it shaking in both pain and fear. _I might need to use the Crest._ For a split second, the ragged and lifeless face of Adelheid Rotmensen superimposed itself upon his mind.

Roux's voice pierced the veil of confliction that had enshrouded his mind. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve." Her attempt at a sly smile was half-hearted and she knew it. Her back now to the smashed glass of the front of the manager's office, Roux started her slow and steady march backwards, broken shards of glass crunching under her feet.

"Then why attempt to flee me?" Kinjo said, licking his lips. He ran the tip of his blade against the side wall of the office. He traced a deep cut through it as he moved ever forward. "Why flee when you can fight?" In a concentrated effort, he froze on the spot.

Roux flinched, taking a longer than usual step back. Her heel hit the bottom of the metal frame that once held the glass now strewn across the office floor. She stumbled back, quickly sweeping her other foot back outside of the frame to catch herself. However, the lapse in concentration was enough. Kinjo lunged at Roux, sweeping out with his scabbard. He aimed for her head, but she fell backwards under its reach. It screamed past her face, almost clipping her nose.

Failing to keep her balance, Roux fell onto the carpet outside the office as Kinjo made to follow through with his blade. He raised it above his head, jumping forward and through the broken office window to deliver a fatal blow to the down Roux when, in flash, Torsten threw himself into the crazed Master from one side. The collision sent Kinjo completely off course, but as the pair collided, he landed an elbow-strike to Torsten's chin that sent him flying. Torsten hit the floor face first outside of the ruined office, rolling quickly to one side and jumping to his feet.

The attack he expected from behind never came, which he knew could mean only one thing. _He's only targeting Roux. _He turned to find Kinjo already advancing on her once again. She had quickly leapt back to her feet while Kinjo was distracted, but she couldn't handle him alone. Looking around, Torsten quickly found his scythe lying on the floor nearby and fetched it before charging at Kinjo from behind.

The Japanese Master heard Torsten's less than subtle approach easily. Kicking Roux away, giving himself space to move, he swung around and blocked Torsten's scythe with his scabbard. There was a small pause as both Master's gazes locked. "Isn't this just wonderful?" Kinjo remarked before making a swing with his blade at Torsten's side. The young Master leapt back, avoiding the blade and dislodging his scythe from Kinjo's scabbard. "Two on one! I just can't believe it!"

Torsten attacked again, making a horizontal sweep of his scythe. Kinjo blocked it with his scabbard, just as Torsten predicted. "You're not the only one who doubles up on weaponry." Taking one hand from his scythe, he Projected a second scythe. Kinjo's eyes widened in surprise as Torsten let loose a second swing with his newly crafted weapon. Kinjo's attuned battle instincts allowed him to react with little hesitation, blocking the second scythe with his own blade.

"So even you have some tricks up your sleeve." Kinjo's face was so close to Torsten's, the young Master could smell his rancid breath as it billowed from his mouth like poisonous fumes. "Show me mo-" As Kinjo spoke, a gleaming point of silver shot through the left side of his chest. He flinched, gasping hard for breath as his left lung and his heart were skewered. Torsten looked to one side of his opponent to see Roux standing behind him, a projection of her rapier in her hand and stuck into Kinjo's back.

With a battle cry befitting Lancer, Roux tore the sword out of Kinjo's back only to begin stabbing him repeatedly. Each blow piercing his torso straight through, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. Kinjo endured each blow without faltering, grunting in pain as Roux's rapier tore through him over and over. Torsten watched in sickened awe as the tip disappeared and reappeared through Kinjo's chest. The fact that the battle crazed Master had not fallen yet was terrifying enough, but it was when Torsten looked up to see Kinjo still smiling his maligned and ecstatic grin that Torsten felt a chill shoot down his spine.

Eyes darting from the Master's gored chest to his evil face then back again, Torsten noticed that the holes being formed by Roux's rapier were stitching themselves closed. His flesh knitted itself over and across the bloody wounds and left no trace after about ten seconds of being created.

_This is never going to work,_ Torsten realised, his terror growing. There was nothing he could think to do. If Takeo Kinjo could regenerate from becoming a human pincushion, the pair of them were left with little options.

Suddenly, Roux cried out from behind Kinjo. "Get out of the way, Torsten!"

Without hesitation, Torsten flung himself back and away from Kinjo. The Japanese Master took one attempt to swipe at Torsten as he jumped away, but stopped short. His eyes bulged in their sockets as he froze in mid-swing of his sword. He began to shake and shudder, as if the world around had suddenly become frigid.

Dissipating the projected scythe, Torsten slowly edged around the Master. Kinjo's eyes tracked him all the way. Torsten found Roux staring right at Kinjo's back, her left eye a shimmering yellow. There was no physical discharge of electricity, but Torsten was sure that if Roux figured she could not cut Kinjo into submission, she'd be forced to cook him instead.

* * *

><p>With relative ease, Berserker was able to fend off both Saber and Lancer as the pair launched attack after attack. Despite the clear disadvantage of a two-on-one fight, Berserker's animalistic instincts and raw strength made any form of offense difficult.<p>

Berserker was not, by nature, a thinking Servant, fractured pieces of information could penetrate her fractured mind. Mostly, these packets of data were restricted to orders given by her Master. However, a single wishful thought sat in her mind and drove ever forward in this battle.

_This battle is the last of the War._

Victory was assured in her mind, as it was in every single fight she had partaken in during the course of the Holy Grail War. This battle against both William Wallace and Brynhildr was no different. The logical conclusion of this was obvious even to Berserker.

Defeating Saber and Lancer meant total and absolute victory.

With victory so close at hand, Berserker unleashed her full power and unrestrained fury against both Servants standing in between her and her Master's obtainment of the Grail.

Both Saber and Lancer, both battered and bruised but still able-bodied enough to fight, now held off on their assault. The pair of them stood before Berserker waiting for her to strike first, breathing hard and knees shaking. The silent and unspoken hope between them was that acting first would let Berserker make the first mistake, even if that meant going on the defence against the monster of a Servant.

"Well?" Saber grunted, wiping a layer of sweat from his brow. "Are you goin' tae attack or not?"

Before Lancer could even grimace at the fact Saber taunted the behemoth before them, Berserker struck out. Using the heavy head of her spear like a hammer, Berserker attacked Saber from above with a vertical blow. Saber opted to block instead of dodging, raising his blade horizontally above his head and bearing the crushing brunt of Berserker's hammer-fall attack.

Saber's muscles bulged and eyes boggled as he strained under Berserker's spear. He made a quick glance at Lancer who, puzzled at first, understood what he was trying to do. Lancer quickly burst forward, aiming Gungnir for the opening now created by Berserker's swing.

Unfortunately, Berserker also caught wind of Saber's plan. She pulled her shield over her open torso, Gungnir deflecting off it to one side. Unsure of whether to jump back or keep forward momentum, Lancer made the rush decision to try and run under Berserker's extended arm that held her spear.

_Crack!_

Berserker brought down her elbow on Lancer. The bony joint brutally slammed into her upper back, stopping her in her tracks. Lancer made a sharp rasping sound and collapsed to her knees and tried to drag herself away.

"No!" Saber screamed. Enough weight was lifted off his blade by Berserker bending her spear arm that he batted it aside and made to strike. He knew that if he didn't occupy Berserker immediately, overwhelming Lancer would be easy for the behemoth.

As Berserker's spear was thrown wide, Saber jumped over Lancer's crawling form and lashed out with a quick swing of his blade. The swing was one handed, leaving his other hand free to latch onto Berserker's spear arm and try to arrest it's movement. All he needed was a few seconds for Lancer to get out of the way and they could try again.

Berserker, however, refused to make that an easy task. Saber's blade struck her shield so hard it stuck in the thick and gnarled wood. With her other arm within Saber's grasp, Berserker used the only limbs she had free to fight back.

Just as Lancer scrambled out of the way and to her feet again, Berserker landed a kick in Saber's chest. Even with his chest plate, Berserker's enormous foot winded the Scottish Servant. He held his ground, digging his armoured boots into the floor that crunched beneath his feet.

Dislodging his blade from Berserker's shield with a sharp tug, Saber battered at the monster. "Get yer arse in gear and hit her!" He bellowed at Lancer who was still shaking off the blow to her back. "I cannae hold her forever!"

As if on cue, Berserker wrenched her arm free of Saber's grasp and made to thrust at Lancer. Still in pain, she rolled out of the way just before the behemoth's spear skewered her on the spot. Saber wrapped his arm around Berserker's now extended spear arm, once again trying to subdue her offensive capabilities.

Continuing to assail Berserker's shield with his sword, Saber's endurance was running thin. "Come on! _Dae it now!_"

With an almighty roar, Lancer threw herself into the fray. She flew at the pair with Gungnir held before her, ready to impale the behemoth from the right side. Berserker, unable to guard against the extra attacker, tried to drag Saber into the range of Lancer's spear, but the Scottish Servant shifted his weight and held fast.

The tip of Gungnir pierced Berserker below her right arm. As the spear ploughed straight through her, lungs punctured, ribs fractured and flesh rended, Berserker did little but stare at Lancer. As Gungnir finally burst from the opposite side of Berserker, slick with her fresh blood, some of the first shreds of emotion that either Saber or Lancer had ever seen on Berserker appeared.

Her eyes bulged out of her skull as her entire head seem to twitch with anger at the blonde woman before her who had run her through. Saber stopped his tirade upon Berserker's shield and Lancer froze for a split second as the pair of them stared right back at the behemoth.

Saber gulped "I think we pissed her off."

* * *

><p>"Jo, are you sure you should be-" Torsten started before being cut off by Roux's raised hand. He watched as she tightened her expression, keeping her dual-colour gaze on Kinjo's form. <em>She's pushing herself again.<em>

Roux groaned. "No choice." She spoke through gritted teeth and fragments as her left eye glowed a vivid yellow. "If this goes on… We're dead… Best just end it now."

Takeo Kinjo was still stuck in a half-formed sword swing, twitching as his muscles spasmed from the electricity coursing through his body. Inside, he was slowly being cooked by the current flowing through him, healed and then cooked again in an endless cycle of pure pain. It was only sheer willpower that stopped him from falling to the floor in a heap of shaking limbs. If he collapsed now, then it really would be all over for him.

"Torsten," Roux managed to add. "Make it quick."

Torsten's grip on his scythe tightened. He knew exactly what she meant. Taking a deep breath, he moved to one side of the incapacitated Kinjo. He was bent forward, his sword arm half extended with twitching fingers barely clutching his sword. As Torsten lined himself up with Kinjo's bare neck, he noticed Kinjo's gaze.

From one side of the laboured Japanese Master, Torsten could see one of his eyes glaring at him. It was as if he was being dared, without words, to run the disabled man through.

"His eyes are exactly like hers were…" Torsten said out loud to himself.

"Do it. Now!" Roux insisted.

Torsten raised up his scythe, gulping as his resolve solidified. _I have to kill him. It's... him or me. _

It was just as Torsten made to bring down his scythe that a flash of silver swept across his vision. For a second, he didn't know what had happened, until he noticed that Kinjo's sword dripping with blood at its tip and at the end of its unfinished arcing motion.

"Torsten!" Roux screamed. He looked at her, she had stopped the power of her Mystic Eye and was instead staring at him, eyes wide in horror.

Feeling a warm sensation wash down his chest, Torsten looked to see a massive gash carved into his body. However, before he could even comment, he was sent flying by a sudden kick from Kinjo. Leaving the ground, he slammed into a desk behind him and rolled over it, out of Roux's line-of-sight.

Takeo Kinjo straightened himself up, flexing his arms and legs as he turned to face Roux. "It's been fun, but if you've got tricks like _that_ up your sleeve, I'm afraid I'm just going to have to kill you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Man, it's been a while. Too long. Far too long. From a death in the family to a rather tumultuous time in University, everything got in the way of me writing.

No longer! I should be back, if on a slightly more slack schedule. My apologies for the delay, but it couldn't be helped.

Like always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. ^^


	38. Sang Rouge : Final

Chapter 38  
>Sang Rouge : Briser le Brisé<p>

Lancer quickly ripped Gungnir free of Berserker's body, leaving the behemoth stumbling. Both Saber and Lancer backed off. The pair of Servants had to remove themselves from Berserker's immediate range, even if meant giving her the chance to recover. Even if Berserker had been skewered, she was still standing and still dangerous.

Each breath that Berserker took looked and sounded painful, a small trickle of blood dripping from her sides as her ruptured lung failed to function. Even so, she reassumed a battle posture quickly and made sure to cover herself as much as possible with her shield. Much to both Saber and Lancer's surprise, despite the rage on her face, Berserker stood her ground.

"Are ye alright?" Saber kept his eyes on Berserker as he spoke.

"I've been better." Lancer did the same.

Saber snorted. "That wasnae the best move back there."

Although Saber didn't see it, he could feel the grimace spread across Lancer's face. "It could have done with, perhaps, an extra second of thought. What now?"

"We apply pressure, and keep it up until she's dead." Saber looked at half of Berserker's face that could be seen past her mess of hair and enormous shield. She was crazed, her teeth bared and eyes wide. "Things are only going tae get tougher until the moment we put this beast down." Taking his eyes off Berserker for a second to look at Lancer, he continued. "Be on your guard."

It was then that Berserker dropped her façade of patience. She leapt forward at Saber, taking advantage of his inattention, using her shield as a wall against counterattack. As she thrust her spear, Lancer blocked the blow with an overhead strike of her own weapon. Berserker's spear diverted into the ground before Saber's feet.

Saber shuffled back, almost tripping over his own feet. "Shit!"

"Now, Saber!" Lancer yelled, straining to hold Berserker's spear back.

Left with no time to linger on his tactical oversight, Saber charged into the fray, flanking Berserker's right to disable her spear-arm. As Saber brought down his sword, hoping to slice straight through Berserker's arm, she suddenly let her weapon go and retracted her exposed limb. Saber's blade slammed into the ground as Berserker, leaving her trapped spear where it was stuck, huddled behind the bulk of her shield and charged forward into Lancer.

Lancer felt the entire weight of Berserker slam into her. She winded instantly, crushed against Berserker's shield. The behemoth of a Servant didn't slow with the addition of Lancer's body weight on her shield. Instead, she sped up, escape the range of Saber's sword.

"_No!_" Saber bellowed as he saw what was about to happen.

Unable to see behind her, pressed almost flat against Berserker's shield, Lancer was caught completely by surprise as her back was slammed into the wall. She let out a cry of agony as she was crushed between Berserker's shield and the wall. She could hear and feel multiple bones break all around her body, the armour over her chest just barely preventing it from caving in.

"Bastard!" Saber, ignoring Berserker's spear beside him, ran at the behemoth. Planning to run Berserker straight through her back, he was stopped dead in his tracks by her next manoeuvre.

With Lancer still pinned tightly between her shield and the wall, Berserker twisted around with her shield to cover her back. Lancer was dragged against the wall behind as she was carried around Berserker's form by the shield, sparks flying as her chest plate scraped against the marble wall. Berserker spun around with such speed and force that when Lancer came undone from between the wall and the shield she was flung straight at Saber.

Thinking fast, Saber swept his sword out to one side and out of the way as Lancer crashed into him. Both of them toppled to the ground, Saber taking most of the force of the fall. However, he could hear Lancer's groans and laboured breathing as she lay on top of him. _No, no, no!_

As Berserker slowly skidded to a halt from her spin, seemingly content to savour the pain of her opponents even in her rage, Saber sat up and held Lancer in his arms. "There's nae dying on my watch, lass. We've got a job tae dae!"

"I.." Lancer began before realising every time she inhaled, a bolt of pain spread through her chest. "I can still fight." She wrestled herself free of Saber's grip and up onto her feet. For a second she had an unsteady sway, Saber hopping up to catch her. However, she regained balance quickly. "Don't worry about me, I said. Didn't…" She winced in pain once again. "Didn't I say that?"

There was a moment of silence as both Lancer and Saber lined themselves up to face Berserker once more. "Aye. You did."

* * *

><p>Torsten regained consciousness to find himself sprawled across the carpet floor, covered in his own blood and in immense pain. His blurred vision quickly settling, he heard the sounds of metal on metal, such as you would hear from the clashing of swords. <em>Jo!<em>

Using a nearby table, Torsten dragged himself up to his knees and looked for both Kinjo and Roux. He found Roux fending off blows from Kinjo, unable to counterattack as he unleashed hell upon her. As Torsten stood, he saw that Roux's left eye was still it's vivid yellow, but that Kinjo seemed unaffected. The Japanese master's movements were a little more rough, as if was dizzy, but that he was making up for this handicap in viciousness.

Gripping his scythe with both hands, leapt over the table before him to enter the fray. "Woah…" As he landed, the extent of his blood loss became apparent as he realised how lightheaded he was. His blood pressure plummeted. A whine began in his ears as everything started to go white around him. _I can't… No time for weakness…_

"Torsten!" Roux cried out, noticing him standing – swaying – on the spot. "Get away; you can't fight any more!"

Kinjo moved himself between the pair of Masters. "Uh-uh." He clashed swords with Roux once again, overpowering her easily enough to dislodge her stance and kick her clear. Her back collided into the rim of a desk, pain shooting up and down her spine. Kinjo turned to the delirious Torsten, leaving Roux to find her feet again. "You first, boy."

Torsten couldn't hear Takeo Kinjo speak or approach him. He could barely even see him, save for a dark silhouette that grew larger and larger before his eyes. The screeching in his ears reached a peak as he tried to force himself not to fall unconscious once more. It was only when the dark figure of Kinjo got within a few metres before him did he realise what was about to happen.

Kinjo didn't waste time, immediately lashing out with his katana to cut Torsten at two at the waist. Torsten sluggishly blocked the blow with his scythe, but the force of the strike knocked him flat onto the floor and let go of his weapon. Kinjo grunted in frustration, sick of his own games, and raised his sword high above his head, ready to run Torsten through in one strike.

On instinct Torsten raised his right hand up in front him. At first, all that was running through his head was the thought of death. Then he saw his hand lined up perfectly with Kinjo's arms that were held above his head. With no hesitation, he thought of two words: _Räumlich Einsturz_.

There was a sickening crunch that pierced even Torsten distorted hearing and then a groan of pain before the dull thud of Kinjo's sword hitting the floor behind him weakly echoed around the room. Torsten's fall to the floor allowed his blood pressure to level off, halting the whine in his ears and bringing colour back to the world as his eyes saw it.

"You…" Kinjo gasped, trying hard not to scream. "You were hiding something like _this?!_" As Torsten's eyes began to focus on the Master towering above him, he saw that both Kinjo's forearms were horrifically broken, the left fractured into two pieces and hanging limp while the right had almost been torn completely apart. A single shred of muscle, spared by the shards of exploded bone that had sliced apart the rest of his flesh, held it to the rest of his arm. "This is too much. Too much."

"What have I done?" Torsten hissed to himself, disturbed at his own handiwork. No sooner than he had said that, however, then Kinjo's arms began to slowly mend themselves. To Torsten's horror, Kinjo's ravaged arms began to reset themselves. Bones fused and flesh stitched together as Torsten scrambled backwards on the office floor, gaining some distance from the Japanese Master.

"Torsten." Roux called out across the room, only having just recovered from the kick she received. "Don't. Don't panic." She crossed the room, Kinjo keeping his eyes on her the entire time, his arms nearing complete health. Kneeling down, Roux lifted Torsten to his feet. His head was certainly feeling like a balloon attached to his neck, but he wasn't going to faint. "This is the only way. My Eye isn't enough without me going overboard again."

Torsten wasn't surprised by the desperation in Roux's voice, but it stung all the same. "Okay. I finish him with it."

"Talking as if I'm not here," Kinjo said with a chuckle. His arms had fully healed and he was retrieving his sword from the ground. It had remained unscathed from Torsten's Räumlich Einsturz. "That is very rude, especially given I'm your most worthy opponent." He pointed the tip of his blade at Torsten. "You've also got some skill, boy. I underestimated the pair of you. But, I'm afraid you've wasted your trump card. Now that I've seen you pull that little magic trick out of your hat, I'm not taking my eyes off of that hat." He kicked Torsten's scythe towards him. "Pick it up. If I'm going to kill the pair of you, I'm going ensure you both had a fighting chance before I steal your lives."

"How kind of you!" Roux jumped at Kinjo, thrusting at him with her sword. Kinjo deftly deflected the blow, the pair once again clashing.

As the pair traded sword blows, Roux trying to stay on the offensive, Torsten readied himself to either join in or unleash Räumlich Einsturz. Torsten was amazed that Roux could keep up with Kinjo. He was clearly the more accomplished swordsman, now unfettered by the chronic effects of Roux's eye he was back to his original form. Even so, Roux was matching him blow for blow now, not letting him attain a foothold in their dance-like duel.

For a split second, while dodging a vertical sweep of Roux's blade, Kinjo's back was turned on Torsten. _He's open!_

Torsten unleashed his power, only for Kinjo to keep up his momentum and move out of the way. Räumlich Einsturz instead encountered empty air, distorting the space in a sphere roughly a foot in diameter before petering out to nothing. "Damnit!"

"I told you!" Kinjo roared, battering at Roux with his blade. "You'll have to do better than that, boy!" Upon taunting Torsten, Kinjo crouched low and swept out a leg, tripping Roux up. She landed flat on her back, Kinjo immediately bringing down his sword upon her.

Torsten screamed as he ran into the fray, charging right into Kinjo and knocking him away from the floored Roux. "Up, Jo! We have to do this together."

"Let's go." Roux stood herself up and the pair of Masters took fighting stances.

Kinjo looked upon them and tried to stifle a laugh. "Make your last stand an admirable one."

"Enough!" Torsten yelled, lashing out with his scythe. Kinjo caught the deadly inside edge with his sword and stopped it dead. Torsten couldn't stand the condescension any longer and, if he had to be the one to end Takeo Kinjo's life, he wasn't going to let himself be controlled by him. "Enough with your bullshit! You're getting the fight you want. All or nothing right? Shut the Hell up and let's go."

Kinjo's pedestal broken, his sick smile fell into a grimace. "Fine." He dislodged Torsten's scythe, assuming a low fighting stance. "Come."

Giving Torsten a quick glance and nod of approval, Roux struck at Kinjo with her rapier. As their blades clashed, Torsten went on the offensive. He brought his scythe down in a vertical drop that aimed directly for Kinjo's head. Batting away Roux's sword, he shuffled back as the tip of Torsten's scythe grazed through his messy black mop of hair.

Torsten activated his Crest, aiming for Kinjo's chest with Räumlich Einsturz. Kinjo spun to one side, almost barrelling into a desk as he did so. With no hesitation, Roux jumped in to keep up the pressure, letting fly blow after blow and pushing Kinjo back to the desk. Taking Roux by surprise, he leapt up on to the desk behind him without losing a beat. A short sharp kick from Kinjo connected with Roux's jaw, jarring her vision.

Tagging in, Torsten swept his scythe through the air, hoping to slice Kinjo's feet clean off. The Japanese Master jumped over it as it passed, leaving it to slice the PC monitor atop the desk into two. Shards of glass exploded out of the screen as it tore apart, leaving both Roux and Torsten needing to shield their eyes.

Kinjo saw his opening and took it. Ducking low, Kinjo sliced at Torsten's neck. Only just catching the glint of steel in the corner of his eye, Torsten ducked the swipe. The path of Kinjo's blade threatened to pass through Roux's neck. She blocked the blow, stopping Kinjo's sword dead in its tracks.

"Torsten, grab his arm!"

Doing as he asked, Torsten grasped at Kinjo's sword arm, just as the Japanese Master tried to pull it away. He missed, clutching halfway up Kinjo's sword, almost slicing his own fingers off. He dared not break the sword with his Crest. This close, the shards would tear his own hand apart.

Roux covered Torsten's misstep by thrusting right at Kinjo. He took the blow to the stomach, barely flinching as Roux's rapier pierced his gut. As she withdrew her blade, the wound instantly began to seal itself. _Still regenerating!_

In retaliation, Kinjo sprung from the desk, leaping over both young Masters and landing behind them. In one smooth motion he spun around as he landed, blade first. Torsten saw it coming, spinning around to meet Kinjo with his scythe. Their weapons locked, Torsten trapping Kinjo's blade. Roux quickly followed Torsten's movements and thrust her sword through Kinjo once again. This time, she skewered his left lung. For a second, he lost himself, gasping from breath as Roux's sword prevented his burst lung from healing itself.

Torsten took his chance and used the Crest. He did so without taking his eyes off of Kinjo's – they were narrowed, focused – and targeted his opponent's right leg. His aim true, the snapping of bones echoed over the room. Torsten could tell it was a struggle for Kinjo to keep his composure. His eyes widened for an instant as the pain of his obliterated shin scorched up his leg.

The very thought of what he had done to Kinjo's leg sickened Torsten. He felt a small sense of relief he couldn't see it. Kinjo had shifted his weight to the other leg, but dared not move enough to disturb the healing process. However, he felt something was wrong. The pain wasn't subsiding as fast as it should.

"It's running out, isn't? You're powers, I mean." Torsten could see by the straining of Kinjo's brow, the sweat pouring down his face, that he had reached whatever limit for his regenerative powers he had.

Kinjo replied with silence, dislodging his sword from Torsten's scythe and ripping himself from Roux's rapier. He stumbled backwards a few steps, the agony of his leg apparent as he favoured his left leg.

"Your time's up," Roux said, taking a fight stance again. Both she and Torsten knew that reasoning with him was pointless. However, they both now knew they stood a chance.

Kinjo could feel his chest tighten as breathing became harder. Without the regenerative properties of his Blood Rite, the entire fight thus far was catching up with him. The exhaustion hit faster than he expected. _Heh. I guess things just got serious for _me_ now…_

He launched himself at Torsten who parried his blow with ease. Kinjo could feel all his muscle ache at once, his right leg still in searing pain. As Torsten parried, however, he took a hand from his scythe and aimed for Kinjo's arms. The ailing Master couldn't move fast enough and saw his upper left arm explode into a mess of blood, tissue and bone fragments.

Takeo Kinjo let out a screech of agony as he saw his eviscerated arm tear in two and fall to the floor. No amount of regeneration would repair the loss of a limb. Taking solace in the fact it was his non-dominant arm that took the blow, Kinjo lashed out at his attacker. He was countered by Roux, who blocked his blade as Torsten attacked with his scythe and ran Kinjo through.

The scythe caught Kinjo under his right arm, narrowly missing his lungs and heart and bursting out his back. There's was no way his Blood Rite would endure this blow and repair it. Kinjo could feel the soul he had poured into its formation evaporate from his prana, leaving him with a meagre accumulation of his own.

"Rarrgh!" Bellowing as he removed himself from Torsten's scythe, he made wild swings with his blade, moving further and further back. Finally, an errant swing sent the tip of his sword into the floor. With only one hand to wrench it free, he couldn't do it with a single pull.

Employing Räumlich Einsturz once again, Torsten obliterated Kinjo's blade. It compressed in the centre of the blade itself before catastrophically expanding outward and shattering into a hail of shrapnel. Both Torsten and Roux avoided harm, but Kinjo's right side was showered with fragments of his own sword that tore through his flesh. Blood poured out the holes in his side, weakening him further.

As if his mind was not one with his body, Takeo Kinjo didn't feel himself collapse to his knees. He still tightly clutched the hilt of his broken sword, making a wild swing as he fell that would never reach his foes.

Torsten and Roux both watched as he continued to flail his remaining arm in vain, his grip eventually slipping on his blade. It slipped out of his hand while it was in mid swing, catapulting the broken weapon through a window to the outside world, shattering it in the process.

Taking his eyes off Kinjo for a second, he glanced at Roux. He hoped to receive some indication of what to do – how to finish this. Roux exchanged eye contact with him for a second before settling back on Kinjo. Sighing, she spoke. "I think it's best if you use the scythe. One quick, clean strike and it's all over."

Much to both Master's surprise and horror, the ragged Kinjo began to laugh. It was low, barely qualifying as anything but a droning chuckle, but it was the most terrifying sound to come out his mouth all night. "I'm not dead. Not yet." His voice was but a dry rasp.

"There's not really much room for argument," Roux said. She motioned to Torsten. "The quicker you do it, the easier it will be, Torsten."

"I told you." Kinjo's voice rose. He lifted the stump that remained of his left arm, pointing it at Torsten's face. "I'm not dead yet. I may be on Death's door, but you're the one that's going to push me through."

"What are you talking about?" Torsten asked, confused and trying to avoid having to look at Kinjo's ravaged arm.

"You're talking about killing me as a mercy," Kinjo said, glaring at Roux before turning his attention back to Torsten. "What a farce! You both have bested me, fighting me to this ragged pile of flesh that kneels before you now. Yet, you're trying to spare yourself the burden for finishing me off by talking as if I'm in this state just because."

"Don't list-" Roux tried to say before Kinjo cut her off.

"I am gracious in defeat. You have bested me in combat, and I can die a warrior's death, even if I cannot lead my Queen to victory." Kinjo took a deep, shuddering breath. "But neither of you are killing me then justifying it with mercy! If you're going to kill me, do it because I stand in your way, not because I'm pitiful enough for you to not lose sleep over!"

Taking a step forward, Torsten readied his scythe to make one final swing and end everything. He did so in silence.

Kinjo looked up at him not with anger in his eyes, but with acceptance. "Can you live with killing me, boy?"

"I'll just have to." With one swift motion, Torsten swung his scythe horizontally. The blade struck Kinjo's neck and swept through it cleanly, severing the Japanese Master's head from his body. With a blank expression of its face, Kinjo's head jumped off its shoulders before tumbling to the ground behind his body, which fell forward in a heap of broken bones and torn flesh.

As quickly as he could, trying to avoid turning his own stomach, Torsten looked away from the ruined corpse before him. It was then that his legs threatened to buckle from underneath him. He wobbled in place, ready to collapse to his knees, before Roux grabbed him by one shoulder and saved his fall.

"Can't let you do that, I'm afraid." She steadied him and held him upright. He was pale and listless, but they didn't have much time to rest. "We're not done here."

"I know that. Just give a second to catch by breath," Torsten mumbled. "I lost a lot of blood." Roux carefully navigated herself and Torsten away from Kinjo's dead body and over to a wall far from debris. She sat him down against it.

Kneeling before him, Roux checked his wounds. The gash across his chest was deep, but not so much he would require anything other than a clean and bandaging when the night was over. "You were very lucky, Torsten." She paused. Torsten could tell she was unsure if she should say what was on the tip of her tongue. "I hoped you learned from that."

"From what?"

Roux ran a finger across Torsten's chest, tracing the gash Kinjo had made. "From hesitating. Should you enjoying killing people? No. But if you had just killed him then and there, you could have saved yourself a near-death experience."

"It's not something I'm going to get used to." Torsten sighed, glancing at Kinjo's dead body. At the angle he was observing it from, his decapitated head was a out of view. However, the sickening sight of Kinjo's open neck, slowly oozing blood onto the floor.

Roux moved in front of Kinjo's corpse. "But you're going to have to."

For a second, the pair just stared at each other, Rouxing hoping that had words were getting through and Torsten trying to come to grips with just what she said. Finally, Torsten shook his head. "Come on, we need to get down stairs." He slowly lifted himself from the ground. Sitting had reset his blood pressure once again. "Saber and Lancer will want to know we're okay. No doubt Berserker is only going to, well, _berserk_ now that her Master is dead."

As Torsten stood and shuffled past Roux, she couldn't contain her worry. "Torsten, you-"

"Later," he replied quickly, cutting her off. "We can talk about it later. For now, our Servants might need us."

Nodding silently, Roux followed Torsten as they left the office and Takeo Kinjo's dead body behind.

* * *

><p>Saber and Lancer had just avoided a crashing blow from Berserker when the worst happened. They had split from each other as Berserker had brought down her shield like a hammer, holding it at arm's length to do so. However, instead of immediately retracting her arm to defend herself or attack once again, she had frozen on the spot.<p>

"What…?" Lancer was breathing heavily, her chest still aching, and her eyesight was beginning to fail her. However, she could see that Berserker had the strangest expression on her face. Instead of her usual soullessness or rage, she looked as if she was trying to be as sad as her mess of a psyche would allow her.

Saber noticed it too. "What did ye dae?"

"Why do you think _I_ did it?!" Lancer yelled back to Saber, forgetting herself for a moment. "Wait…"

Berserker had started making a low groaning sound, like she was in immense pain. Her were wide, as her lips stretched open into an indiscernible expression. It was somewhere between anger and sadness. Then, suddenly, she screamed. However, it was nothing like her high pitched wails the pair had heard before. Instead, it was more natural; a howl of pure anguish.

Over the din, Saber cried out. "You don't think the lad and lass did her Master in, dae ye?"

The truth, unbeknownst to both Saber and Lancer, the Scottish Servant's words were the final straw. Berserker turned to him and charged at him like a mad bull. She was so fast on her feet that Saber had no time to brace himself for the impact. She slammed into Saber with her shield, but instead of continuing to run forward, she jumped up behind the shield. She hit Saber like a wrecking ball, toppling him to the ground and rolling over the Servant with the shield, effectively crushing him.

The air in Saber's lungs was pushed out violently. He made a rasping sound as he tried to inhale much needed air, but Berserker had already rolled up and onto her feet behind him. Tossing away her shield, sending it flying through the glass façade of the building and breaking a lamppost outside, she turned to face the downed Saber.

Lancer ran to defend him, thrusting with Gungnir over Saber as he lay on the ground. Whether due to Berserker's sudden burst of energy or Lancer's ailing health, the behemoth of a Servant surprised astounded the team of Servants by dodging to one side and grabbing hold of Gungnir's shaft. With a vice-like grip, Berserker swung Lancer around once again this time releasing the spear quickly just to get rid of her.

"No!" Saber groaned as he saw Lancer flew out his field of vision and her he hit the ground with the metallic crunch of her armour buckling. However, Saber had himself to worry about. No sooner had Berserker flung Lancer away had she swung herself around to stand over him, straddling him with her feet. He tried to lift his sword arm, only for Berserker to violently crush it beneath one foot. A scream later and he let it go out of pain, Berserker releasing his arm only to quickly bend to grasp at his neck with one hand.

Gasping for breath, still winded from being pulverised under Berserker's shield, Saber was lifted by one hand into the air. Berserker's grip on his neck was just loose enough to allow Saber small gulps of air, but as she raised him higher than her head height, his feet leaving the ground, he could feel her tightening her fingers around his neck further.

Saber tore at Berserker's arm with his own fingers, but it served no purpose. Her limb was like iron and unresponsive to even the tearing of her skin. As his vision began to falter, blackness taking over all Saber could see as he struggled to take in air, he heard the sickening sound of metal crushing bone. Falling to the ground with a clatter as his armour crumpled against the hard tiles, he looked up at Berserker in time to see her wail in pain.

Lancer stood to one side of her, Gungnir thrust through Berserker from the opposite side of her first wound. Lancer hadn't activated the ability of the spear, but her own aim was true. Gungnir had once again run Berserker through. However, she had not fallen. Instead, she screamed as she made wild swings at Lancer, ignoring the fact Gungnir was still stuck in her chest.

"She just won't _die!_" Lancer screamed, jumping back from Berserker's flailing blows and ripping out Gungnir as she did so. Much to Lancer's relief, Berserker was now focused on her, giving Saber time to get up.

Berserker was without a weapon, no tool with which to attack, save for her own brute strength. That was enough for her. As Lancer made a swift, horizontal sweep of Gungnir, Berserker simply avoided the spearhead and batted it off course. The behemoth followed up with a palm strike that Lancer barely avoided, rolling back and out of range of another blow.

As Lancer rolled back and up to her feet, ready to unleash another attack, it was then that the door to the stairs opened across the room. The door was behind Berserker, but in full view of Lancer. For a second, the door simply swung open and nothing else. But both Torsten and Roux ran out into the foyer floor, making the result of the fight upstairs certain.

To Lancer's horror, Berserker did not hesitate to turn in place, charging at the Masters who had just made open targets of themselves. By pure instinct, Berserker knew the two killers of her Master were there. With her Master gone, all that was left for her to do was avenge his death and make her own death worthwhile.

* * *

><p>Leviathan fought the urge to give into full blown laughter, settling for a snide chuckle. He had enjoyed watching the two young Masters face Berserker's Master. The battle between Servants downstairs had been less enthralling until Berserker's Master was slain. "It seems things aren't going so well for your 'chosen one'. And I thought those two did a good job killing that stupid fool upstairs. A shame it only made things worse for themselves, in the end."<p>

"This is not how it will end." Saviour had ignored the battle upstairs, until the outcome became apparent and both Lancer and Saber began to truly struggle against Berserker. It was then that he began to consider his most drastic option to ensure Lancer's survival. "Definitely not."

"Your reasoning being?" Leviathan asked playfully.

"I won't _let it_ end this way." He looked to his Master, locking eyes, seeking approval for what he was about to do.

With smug smile and a curt nod from Leviathan, Saviour had his answer. He immediately leapt from the edge of the building and to the ground below. Drawing his sword, he strode towards the battle in the building before him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

This took a little longer than I had hoped, but it's done! I had a rather impromptu if much needed holiday and that took away a good amount of writing time. :s

But, I'm back on the writing wagon, as it were. ^_^

I hope you enjoyed this one because the so-called 'endgame' or third act of the story is going to be here soon.

Tune in next time, folks!


	39. Âme Perdue

Chapter 39  
>Âme Perdue<p>

The sound of thunderous footsteps was the first thing Torsten noticed before turning around. But when he did, he wished he hadn't. Berserker was approaching with inhuman speed from far across the foyer, leaving Saber and Lancer in her wake. "Oh shit."

Roux grabbed his arm and pulled him to one side as Berserker speed up for a second then launch herself into the air, planning to land on both Masters and crush them in one decisive blow. Avoiding the attack at the last second, both Torsten and Roux went sprawling across the tiled floor as Berserker landed by them hard enough to obliterate the ground where she hit. Not losing a beat, she turned to the downed Masters and try to stomp on them.

Left with no choice, they both had to roll across the floor to get away until Berserker grew sick of the game. With speed, she reached out and tried to grab Roux, missing her by the breadth of a hair. In a moment of insanity, Torsten jumped to his feet and attempted to distract Berserker from Roux. "Over here you stupid beast! I killed him! _Me!_"

With a chilling roar, Berserker turned on Torsten, ready to pummel him into the ground. However, as one of her curled fists was about to blast right through his face, she suddenly lurched off the ground. Torsten watch in awe as Saber tackled Berserker from behind and forced her to the ground before trying to bring his sword down upon her. As she rolled out-of-the-way, Lancer shot into Torsten's view, trying to stick Berserker with Gungnir for a third time. She missed, hitting the floor, as Berserker rolled out-of-the-way and on her feet.

There was a tense moment where Saber and Lancer held their own, standing before their Masters like a wall and Berserker took stock of her chances now that the field of battle had been reset.

Saber took his chance to speak. "I assume ye killed the bastard then?"

"I figured that was rather obvious," Roux replied, out of breath. "Now all that's left is Berserker."

"She's going to zero in on you two." Lancer spoke to Torsten and Roux but kept her eyes on Berserker. She noticed immediately that the behemoth was looking past both herself and Saber, trying to work out a strategy to annihilate her Master's murderers first and foremost. "Coming down to us was a bad idea."

"We thought you might need help!" Torsten said, frustrated.

"Are ye daft?" Saber asked. "You twa help in a battle between Servants?"

"Okay, perhaps we didn't think this through," Roux murmured.

"Ye can say that again." Saber shook his head. He turned his attention to Lancer. "Same plan as before? I distract, you go in for the kill?"

"Yes. One strike to the heart and she is dead."

"Let's go!" Saber yelled, charging at Berserker.

Just as Berserker made to dodge the sword strike, she froze. A blade of gold exploded from her chest. It eviscerated her heart – a mortal wound. Before the group before her could even think of who did the deed – who just killed Berserker in a single blow – sanity seemed to creep across Berserker's face. Her features softened and the irrational anger she had faded as her expression turned from one of madness to one of anguish. She looked less like a monster and more like the person she really was.

This moment ended as the golden blade stuck in her chest was ripped out, ending Berserker's life. She fell forward, collapsing in a heap to the floor before dissolving into fresh autumn leaves that scattered across the floor by an unseen wind. Her killer stood with his golden blade in hand.

"_It's him_," Saber gasped, remembering his encounter with Saviour in the depths of Chevalier's church. "It's Saviour!"

"What?" Roux was stunned. Both Saber and chevalier were quite right; this was not a homunculus as Saviour had claimed to them both himself. He was a Servant. _Saviour class? There is no such thing!_

"My business is not with you," Saber said, his words dripping with venom as he eyed Saber as if he were a monster. "It lies only with her." He pointed his blade at Lancer, leaving her stunned.

"Do I know you?" Lancer replied with, confused.

Saviour scoffed. "You will." In an instant, he was upon her, black, ethereal wings sprouting from his shoulder blades and knocking Saber back. The wings, looking as if they were formed of pure mana, wrapped around both Lancer and Saviour, trapping the former in an unwanted embrace.

"Lancer!" Roux cried, lunging at the wings that trapped her Servant with her sword. It bounced off, knocking Roux onto her rear. Lancer was trapped within the black cage of energy with Saviour.

* * *

><p>Lancer found herself held tight within Saviour's arms, in a malignant form of a hug. "What is this? Let me go!" Struggle as she might, Lancer found Saviour's grip was vice-like. However, she was not being crushed by his arms. Instead, she was merely being held as still as possible.<p>

"_Who is like unto God?_" Saviour crooned into Lancer's ear. His words were like a drug, his voice the most heavenly and serene she had ever heard. She felt an insane compulsion to answer him, against her better judgement.

_This is bad, his words are arcane. He's trying to curse me!_ The thought blared in her mind, but it brought about little in the way of bolstering her resistance. The question Saviour asked was a famous one – a rhetorical biblical question whose answer is meant to be clear. It was also the name of an Archangel. _Michael. Saviour is Archangel Michael!_

A sudden jolt of pain shot through Lancer, starting in her head and coursing through her body like a poison. Her mind screamed to answer the question, the answer clear as day. But she knew that to do so would doom her. How exactly, she did not know. But to answer was, she knew, was the end of her.

"No... You can't control me!" Lancer managed to say as the pain only intensified throughout her body. Her very nerves screamed that she answer, burning as if she were being lowered into the flames of Hell.

_No one! No one!_ They cried in unison, the voice in her head maddening. _NO ONE IS LIKE GOD!_

Lancer knew, in her heart, this was a lie. She was a Valkyrie of Asgard. Gods were many there, but if there was any one 'God', it was Odin who saw fit to give his spear, Gungnir, to her. Archangel Michael's God was a very different beast altogether, but they were both divine beings – both lords of their domain and ruler of all.

"_Who is like unto God?_" Saviour asked a second time, his voice still pure and enticing.

Lancer could feel his grip on her tighten ever further. There was no escaping. There was no penetrating the shield of his wings from the outside or it would have already happened. The pain throughout her body only grew stronger and stronger as she resisted the urge to speak, to open her mouth and stop the torture. It would be a betrayal of her roots and Roux to answer, but the strain was becoming too great. The urge to answer was conflicting with her drive to live to fight for her Master.

"_Who is like unto God?_" Saviour asked for a third and final time.

Lancer's clouded mind and pain stricken body could take little more. She knew she would die if she resisted further, but she knew not what awaited if she did answer. With a foul and disgusting feeling in the pit of her stomach, she answered, whispering to Saviour the words he wished to hear.

"No one."

In an instant the pain lifted, but she knew she had made a grave mistake. She could feel herself fall away, as if she were having an out-of-body experience. Her memories became fuzzy and scattered as something other than herself seeped into her mind like a poison. This was the end of her, but exactly how she could not fathom. Regardless, she had one last thought as she fought back the urge to cry and she fell into darkness.

_I'm sorry, Josephine. I'm so sorry._

* * *

><p>Saber had tried in vain to pierce the energy veil created by Saviour's wings. Nothing worked. For a tense minute, Saber, Roux and Torsten could do nothing but stare at the encapsulated pair of Servants.<p>

"What do we do? She could be dying in there!" Roux was beginning to panic, looking ready to try to pierce Saviour's wings once again. None of them knew anything good could come of what was happening, but Roux was the most petrified of all.

Torsten grabbed her arm, tugging her back. "We can't break through that thing. We need to think of something else!"

Saber then pushed himself between both young Masters and the trapped Lancer. "This is…" His face looked strained as if he were trying to deduce what was happening to Lancer purely by the mana of both Servants. "This is bad. Get behind you twa'."

"Saber, what's going on? We need to free Lan-" As Roux spoke, Saviour's wings quivered. "What was that?"

Saber took a hand from his sword and pushed her further behind him. "_Get back._"

Saviour's wings wavered once more, Saber stepping back slowly and forcing both Torsten and Roux back as well. Roux was growing livid. "What the Hell is going on, Saber? What do you know?"

In a sudden outpouring of dark mist, Saviour's wing blasted open. The mist acted as a smokescreen, completely swallowing up Saviour and Lancer from view. For a few tense seconds, no one moved and no one made a sound.

_Clang!_

A glint of steel and the lightning fast figure of a human shot out of the mist, clashing with Saber. The Scottish Servant was able to block the first blow of his assailant before even being able to get a good look at them. However, as he looked at the weapon that he had locked to the ground with his sword and the person holding it, his worst fears were realised.

"No..." Roux gasped, walking further back as Saber's attacker became visible. "Don't tell me..." It was Lancer who had attacked Saber. However, it was not Lancer as she knew her. She was no longer her Servant. Her face was a blank slate, free of any emotion of any kind. Her eyes lacked pupils or irises, looking like soulless, white orbs. "What's happened to you?! Lancer! Lancer!"

Roux's cries fell on deaf ears. Lancer didn't even look in her direction, instead keeping her empty eyes fixated on Saber before her. Saviour exited the mist like a ghoul, striding to Lancer's side.

"What did you do to her? What did you do to Lancer?!" Roux screamed, unable to stop herself from bursting into tears. She tried to reach out, touch her Servant, but Saber made sure to hold her back.

Saviour's eyes locked onto Roux. "I have saved her. She is now mine."

"What are you talking about?" Torsten butt-in, confused, but not doubting that Saviour had done something to Lancer to turn her allegiance against her will.

"All I did was speak my name and she was unable to stand against me." Saviour looked down at Torsten before him as a human would an ant. "No one can resist it's power, however it only functions so once."

"I know who he is," Saber said, voice low. He understood now. He understood how Lancer, the most faithful of the pair of them could be turned. "He's an Archangel. Archangel _Michael_."

It quickly dawned on both Masters the reality of what had just happened. Neither of them knew the extent of Saviour's powers, but they understood the implication set by his identity. Archangel Michael. He was most well-known for being the leader of God's armies. However, it was his name that was chillingly potent to them both. Michael, quite literally, means 'Who is like God?' in the modern turn of phrase. It was clear this was a Noble Phantasm, a divine magic utilising the power inherent to his name, to force people under his – and by extension, God's – control.

"No… No, no, no!" Roux screamed, sadness giving way to anger. "Give her back! Give Lancer back!" Torsten tried to hold Roux, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her away from Saber's back, but she was strong enough to break his hold and leave it up to Saber to stop.

"She's beyond saving, lass." Saber's was cold. "I can bet that Saviour's power is amplified on the Servants of a divine bent, correct?" He directed his question to the Archangel.

"You're much more enlightened than you look, Saber. Or, should I call you William Wallace?" Saviour smirked, savouring the freedom he had to toy with his prey. "You are indeed correct. _Michael_, my Noble Phantasm may only be used once but it is sure to work and works especially well on divine beings by virtue of tearing their divinity away from them. The stronger your ties are the opposite of God, the easier it is for me to ensnare them." He ran a finger down Lancer's cheek. She was unflinching, unmoving. She did not even try to look anywhere but at Saber, keeping her disturbing white eyeballs trained on him.

"You sick bastard." Torsten squirmed at the thought of someone taking advantage of Lancer as Saviour was. "You touch her again..."

"And you shall do what, exactly?" Saviour thrust his sword in Torsten's direction. "Nothing. You shall do _nothing. _Because what else can you do?" He placed the blade of his sword at Lancer's throat. She was uncaring. "I could slice her neck now, kill her, and you could do nothing to stop me from doing so."

"But you won't," Roux spoke up, composed for a moment. "You wouldn't waste your trump card on a kill. You want a _slave_."

"Indeed." Saviour took his blade from Lancer's throat. "But my point still stands. None of you can do anything to stop me, or my Master."

"We'll see about that!" Saber bellowed, sliding his blade up the length of Lancer's spear and slamming her chest with the flat of it. The blow was far from fatal, but it took the puppet of a Servant off her feet and tossed her across the room. Saber quickly followed through with a reverse swing, this time aiming the edge of his blade right at Saviour who had stepped out-of-the-way of the flailing Lancer.

The Archangel caught Saber's blow with his own golden short-sword. Despite the strength and weight behind Saber's attack, Saviour didn't even budge. "What did I just tell you, fool?" Saber felt his gut compress as a nimble punch from Saviour found its mark. As the Scottish Servant resisted the urge to buckle over in pain, a golden glint of light flashed across his eyes. On instinct, he tore himself back and away from Saviour as the Archangel's blade scored past his face, leaving a deep gouge on his right cheek.

_It's nae use… I'm too run down from fighting Berserker…_ Saber looked to his right to find Lancer charging at him. Whatever Saviour had done to her had essentially returned her to full strength; perhaps even healed her mostly internal injuries.

A sloppy attempt at blocking resulted in Lancer missing with her spear, but crashing headlong into Saber. He toppled to the floor before rolling back to his feet, while Lancer endure the blow and kept standing. It was then, Saber now clear, that Lancer turned to face Torsten and Roux.

"Lancer, wait!" Roux cried out, in one last desperate attempt to reason with her Servant.

Torsten grabbed her around the waist and dragged her away as Lancer ignored her Master's pleas and lunged at where she stood. Now that Lancer was close to the pair, Torsten knew neither of them would be able to dodge in time. Lancer's superhuman reflexes and speed would see to it that both of them were struck down. There was only one chance left to them.

"Saber, get us away from Lancer and to safety!" Torsten yelled, activating a Command Spell.

A surge of power shot through him as the power of the Grail activated one of the markings on Torsten's hand. Using Torsten as a conduit, the power flowed to Saber, giving him the almost unlimited capacity to do as ordered.

Light and wind exploded around Saber, enshrouding him and blinding Saviour behind him. Lancer turned her attention back Saber, charging at centre of the ball of light in an effort to stamp out the Command Spell's effect before it finalised. As she reached him, she was struck hard in the face and chest by a seemingly invisible force. Crashing back to the ground, her assailant became clear quickly. The light faded around Saber to reveal that he was encased in a full set of plate armour and mounted upon a huge, armoured battle horse.

Saber immediately capitalised on Lancer's downed state, riding forward and past her to Torsten and Roux. "Up ye get!" He grabbed Roux's hand and helped her up and on the horse, where she sat in front of him. Torsten leapt up on the horse's rear end and held onto Saber from behind.

"Go!" Torsten held on tight as Saber's horse took off with incredible speed, faster than either chariot Noble Phantasm he had seen.

Riding straight at an unbroken window, Saber tightened his grip on his steed's reigns. "Brace yersels'!"

They rocketed through it; hitting the asphalt of the road at high-speed. As they took off down the street, over the hard clatter of hooves, Torsten could swear he heard Roux crying.

* * *

><p>Left behind in the foyer of the office building, Saviour had foreseen the attempted escape of Saber and the Masters coming. It was clear they would not stay to fight who were once their comrade and the Servant who had turned her. However, it wasn't any less frustrating to see them flee without a single casualty despite this.<p>

_No matter_, he thought to himself, watching Lancer raise herself from the floor and return to his side. _Brynhildr is mine now. Besides, I have broken her Master's spirit not doubt. A dearth in morale will spread quickly between them until they selfdestruct._

"Nothing can stop us now."

* * *

><p>High atop the edge of the building where Saviour had left him, Leviathan struggled to restrain his enjoyment of what his Servant had just wrought. "Good show, good show!" He sighed. "Now the real fun can truly begin."<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Well, I can safely say that we've officially reached the third and final act of the story! It's a good feeling. ^_^

The end is nigh in more ways than one!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as usual, and tune in next time.


	40. Calcul

Chapter 40  
>Calcul<p>

The ride back to the Roux estate was a solemn one. Torsten and Saber dared not speak while Roux quietly shed tears, leaving only the snuffling of the horse and the battering of its hooves on the road to fill their ears. The most Torsten could think to do was wrap a hand around Saber and reach out to Roux. She had clutched at it tightly for the entire journey, her knuckles going white.

When the trio finally reached the mansion, Saber's steed dissolving as he dismounted after the two Masters, Roux took off for the front doors without waiting for either Torsten or his Servant. Having heard the clatter of hooves, Chevalier opened the doors just in time to see Roux shuffle past him, avoiding his gaze and greeting.

"Wait!" She ignored him and made her way up the staircase in the foyer, headed to her room. As Chevalier turned to meet the three people other people he expected, he found only Torsten and Saber with dark looks on their faces. "Oh no..."

* * *

><p>"So, she's alive..." Chevalier said, trying to wrap his head around what Saber and Torsten had just explained to him. It wasn't complexity that made it hard to fathom, but the absurdity of it all. Savior, the rogue Servant in service to Leviathan – who was already absurd enough – was Archangel Michael. Worse still, through his Noble Phantasm he had somehow corrupted and turned Lancer. "But..."<p>

"I hate tae say it so bluntly, but death would have been better for her," Saber mumbled, a bottle of whiskey, his first port of call once he had entered the mansion, in his hand and slumped in the couch next to his Master.

Torsten sighed. "That was obviously the point. If Lancer was dead, chances are we'd have yet another reason to fight. Alive and made an enemy to us? What could be _worse?_" He stood. "I'll go check on Jo - get her to come down if I can."

"Aye, good lad." Saber pat his Master on the back before letting him go.

As Torsten left, Chevalier made his way to the drinks cabinet and retrieved two glasses before putting them down on the table before Saber. "Drink it in a glass. That way I'll get some too."

Obliging, Saber poured two rough shots of whiskey and put the bottle down on the table. He had already drunk a third of the bottle himself, Chevalier could see. "There ye go."

"What are we going to do, Saber?" Chevalier asked out of the blue.

"What do ye mean?" Saber hesitated to answer, knowing there was no good way to do so.

Chevalier blinked. "I mean, how are we going to manage getting out of this with Torsten and Roux's lives? Defeating Saviour and Leviathan would have been hard enough, even with Lancer on our side. But now? Saviour, Leviathan _and_ Lancer fighting as one team?"

"I donnae know." Saber knocked back the shot in his glass and refilled it.

Chevalier gave him an expectant look. "That's it? You don't know?" He tried to emulate Saber's tenacity with the whiskey, slamming it back hard. His face scrunched up as the alcohol burned the back of his throat on the way down. Saber did the polite thing and ignored the priest's over eagerness.

"That's it. Has it ever been different? The moment ye landed our doorstep half-dead, any plans we had went out the window." Saber drank the next shot just as fast, refilling it as he talked. "We'll carry on as we always have. There's nae other choice, Father. We carry on and defeat Saviour and Leviathan – even if that means killing Lancer with my own two hands."

Saber looked away from Chevalier at his own mention of Lancer, his eyes lazily working their gaze to the bottle of whiskey on the table. He awaited the question he knew the priest would ask him and wondered if the answer he knew had to give was the truth or not.

"Can you do that?" Chevalier was hoping Saber would look him in the eye, but he resisted. His eyes were still trained on the whiskey bottle. Chevalier needed to hear an answer. Even if it was just empty words, he needed to hear that Torsten's defender was resolute enough to simply say it. After a moment of silence, Chevalier took the bottle from before the Servant and poured it out over the tabletop. The stench of the alcohol fanned out as it splattered across the hardwood. Saber finally locked eyes with the priest. "Can you kill Lancer?"

Drinking the last shot he poured, Saber steeled himself. "If I must."

* * *

><p>Torsten knocked lightly on Roux's bedroom door, hoping she would at least bother to tell him to go away if nothing else. "It's me. Can I come in?" It was muffled, but he heard an unmistakable "Yes" from the other side of the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered.<p>

He found Roux sitting on her bed with her back to the door, rubbing her left shoulder. "They're gone."

"What's gone?" Torsten was confused.

"My Command Spells. They're all gone." She turned on the spot to face him. Her eyes red and her features dark. "There's not even an imprint of them left behind. They're just _gone_. _Lancer's_ just gone_._"

Torsten looked at the shoulder she was rubbing. Her Command Spells had indeed vanished, leaving behind no trace. Typically when a Spell is used, they would leave a mark behind – a silhouette of their shape like ink that had been faded in the sun. Instead, there was simply nothing but Roux's bare shoulder. It meant the worst; the contract between Roux and Lancer had been forcibly broken, tearing Servant and Master apart on the basest level possible in the War.

Torsten kicked off his shoes and crawled across the bed to Roux's side, wrapping his arm around her. She started to cry. "It's not fair. I'm not even talking about me. I'm talking about Lancer. This is the last thing she would have wanted."

"I know." Torsten hugged Roux tighter with one arm, while wiping away her tears with the other. "You're right, it's not fair." He paused. "But what would Lancer want us to do now?"

"To keep going..." Roux managed through her tears. "To keep going and save her if we can." She finally returned Torsten's embrace, burrowing her head into his chest. She put pressure on the wound that scored across his torso, but Torsten resisted the urge to acknowledge it.

"And," Torsten said, his throat drying out as he tried to continue. "What... What if we can't do that?" He hoped beyond hope that Roux could say what he needed her to. It would hurt, it would wrench her heart out of her ribcage, but she needed to be able to say it.

"Then we put her out her misery." Roux answered immediately, her voice cold. "And..." She stopped herself.

"And what?" Torsten prompted after a few awkward seconds of silence. He hadn't expected anything more than the resolution to take down Lancer when the time came.

"We make sure that justice is done for her," Roux said. She tightened her grip on Torsten, passing the pain she felt inside to him. For all Torsten's stubbornness, he couldn't help but let out a single groan as his wound was squeezed tight. "Oh no, your wounds."

Roux pushed herself away from Torsten, breaking his grasp on her. "I'm fine, really. It's closing up!" Roux leaned in close to his chest and parted the remains of his shirt to see the gash underneath. Torsten was right about it closing, but it didn't make it any less serious as far as Roux was concerned.

"It needs a good clean and properly bandaged. It'll get infected or reopen if I don't." Talking as she moved, Roux got off the bed and started rummaging in her cupboard for a first aid kit.

Finding it quickly Roux returned to Torsten's side and motioned for him to take his short of and lie down. He complied, beyond trying to protest out of pride. Between trusting Roux and simply being exhausted, he saw little point. It was then he remembered the night he had saved her and couldn't help but snicker.

"What are you laughing at?" Roux said, a nervous and reflective laugh underlying her voice.

"Oh, nothing." He cleared his throat, trying not to laugh again. "Just that we seemed to have swapped places. You know, the whole being tended to thing."

Roux giggled, Torsten hiding his joy at seeing her smile well, before it subsided. She looked decidedly sad afterwards, with whatever attempts she was making to look jolly being made in vain. "That was a rough night, even if I was out cold for most of it. If... If Lancer hadn't taken the brunt of that blow from Berserker, I wouldn't be here." Roux soaked a ball of cotton with antiseptic and began dabbing at Torsten's wound and worked to get the dried blood off of it.

Between the stinging sensations of the antiseptic on not fully closed sections of his gash, Torsten spoke. "Saber's saved me more times than I can begin to count at this point." He sighed, wincing as Roux dug the cotton wool into his abdomen harder to scrap off an extra tough spot of blood. "Lancer was a good person, Jo. That's why we need to do the best by her when the time comes."

"I know that," she mumbled, the words catching her throat. Saying it meant meaning it. "That doesn't make it any easier to think about, never mind having to go through with it. I mean, it's not either of us that will be able to do it anyway. It's..."

"Yes." Torsten closed his eyes. "Saber's the one that's going to suffer that task."

* * *

><p>Freshly bandaged and with Roux by his side, Torsten returned to the living room to meet both Chevalier and Saber. Both were sitting in silence as the Masters arrived, Chevalier offering a weak smile to greet them. Saber moved himself over on the couch to give them room to sit down.<p>

"You're okay?" the large Servant said, looking to Roux.

She made a small nod. "I don't have much of a choice."

"Aye, you're right about that, lass," Saber agreed. He began to rub at his stinging eyes. "Even if we didnae lose Lancer, that last battle took it out of me."

Torsten looked over his Servant. As usual, soon after the battle he looked spotless and as if the nightmare he had just gone through was a figment of all their imaginations. The truth of the matter was his wounds were healing themselves invisibly, given his spectral body. However, if Saber made note of how ragged he had been run during the last battle, it really means he was feeling the strain. "We need a plan. I know we're all tired, we've lost Lancer and things are looking grim, but, we need a plan if we're to change any of that."

"Indeed," Chevalier said, standing to stretch his legs. He began to pace back and forth. "With Lancer gone, we need to be more careful than ever now. I think we can all agree on that? And, no matter the objections, I need to join you in combat from now on. Beyond being one team member short, it's my duty to take care of the Masters of the War. You are the only two left." He paused, letting what he said sink in. He could see by the looks on both Roux and Torsten's faces that it was a wakeup call. "Not to mention, you are both dear friends. We're all in this together, to the end."

"Thank you, Guillaume. I don't think we can get away without your help anymore now." Torsten's satisfaction with the priest's resolve belied the worry he had about their biggest problem. "But, even with your help, it's still an uphill battle."

"Two Servants and an unknown entity," Roux added, rubbing a finger across the web-like scars around her eye. The varying texture of her skin was unpleasant, both to touch and to look at as far as she was concerned. But, like a scab, it was hard not to keep her fingers off of it. "Saviour, at least, seems to be at full strength. I can't imagine he's thrown himself into combat much. It looked as if being controlled rejuvenated Lancer in the process."

Chevalier sighed. "Leviathan was strong enough to take me by surprise at the very least. He, or _it_, is not something we should take lightly, obviously."

"I can say for sure that Lancer received some form of boost after what happened tae her," Saber added. "It was like she hadn't fought once in the War when I felt the strength behind her spear."

Still rubbing her scars and hanging her head, Roux let out a long groan. "Then we have a worst case scenario on our hands. We're going to have to work miracles to get out of this alive, never mind stop Leviathan."

"All the more reason we need to formulate some kind of plan before whatever it is Leviathan is trying to do happens." Chevalier kept up his pacing. His shoes made a metronomic thud upon the hardwood floor that Torsten could help feel were like each second of inaction passing them by.

"Well, what do we know of both Leviathan and Archangel Michael? We need somewhere to start and knowing our enemies seems the best place. As much as I'm sure they know Saber's identity, it doesn't change the fact our knowing theirs is an advantage for use regardless." Torsten pitched what he could, hoping that the rest would bite.

"Both are divine beings; one angelic and the other demonic," Saber said in manner akin to thinking out loud. "I donnae know if Michael's status as, what seems tae me, a fallen angel affects his power outside the loss of his wings."

Chevalier was quick to finish Saber's thought, remembering his encounter with Saviour at Saber's side in the bowels of the church. "Logically, it would. The angelic draw strength from their purity. As a fallen angel, Michael's power is diminished but he is most certainly under Leviathan's complete control. Furthermore, it's unlikely many of Michael's abilities remain intact." The priest's voice began to rise as he talked. He was clearly in his element, but the fact his element could aid them was giving him hope. "Just think about it. Michael commanded God's angelic armies, but it's highly unlikely he has any access to them as, say, a Noble Phantasm."

"So you're saying he could be lacking in, for the lack of a better term, a 'trump card'?" Roux asked, raising her head from her hands.

"Possibly." Chevalier shrugged. "However, I do think his ultimate ability was used tonight to its full might. I cannot fathom a power he could still utilise – being a Servant, being a fallen angel – outside that of his own being. His name is within that scope, being a divine word that describes him. It's the closest he has, I think, to a connection to God as he is. 'Who is like unto God?' indeed."

Saber's eyes lit up as he realised what Chevalier was implying. "So, yer saying that he's likely got no more surprises left in him... That certainly simplifies matters, but it doesnae change the fact that he has Lancer on a tight leash."

"Unfortunately, facing both Saviour and Lancer is unavoidable. It is a sad truth, but the truth." Chevalier spoke with a cold finality in his voice. Saber simply nodded in reply. He expected nothing different from what he was told even if he hoped otherwise.

"That's the issue of Servant dealt with as much as we can. An actual battle plan can wait, but I would say it's fair to expect Saber to survive a two-on-one match?" Torsten side-eyed his Servant with a small smirk.

"Don't make me slap you upside the heid, lad," Saber shot back, not losing a beat. However, his mood changed swiftly to a seriousness that Torsten had only seen after having summoned him. "But... I can take them. At once if need be."

Only momentarily comforted by Saber's confident words, Roux found her thoughts drifting to their main problem. "But what of Leviathan? We know nothing about him outside of what you've said." She motioned to Chevalier.

"He was more monster than man when I faced him, as you will recall my telling you. I can't say what he has become now, but I know that he will be the strongest entity in this War. In theory, he could wield more power than that of a Servant if he can tap into the Grail's mana." Chevalier's explanation sent a chill across the room. He was right and they all knew it. However, that didn't stop Torsten.

"But what if he hasn't tapped into the Grail's power? For one, that's supposed to be impossible for the homunculus being used as a vessel to do. But we'd already be dead and Leviathan on a rampage or working whatever plans he has in store if he had tapped into the Grail, don't you think?" As much as Torsten felt he was grasping at straws, logic was not lost on him.

"Torsten has a point," Roux added. "In fact, you'd think that if he was powerful enough to escape his bonds, mindless still or not, he would have been directly interfering with Masters and Servants if he could have."

The hopefully expression on Chevalier's face betrayed the fear he had of underestimating Leviathan. "So you're saying that Leviathan could be weak, somehow?"

"Not necessarily weak," Torsten said. With Roux's support, he knew he was onto something; enough to give them all hope. "But _normal_."

"What I faced in the bowels of the church was far from normal, Torsten." Chevalier took a seat once more, leaning in towards Torsten.

Opening her mouth before Torsten could, Roux cut in. "But you were taken by surprise then. That doesn't count for nothing. Who's to say that Leviathan is as powerful as that single surprise onslaught made him out to be?"

"Besides," Torsten said. He swallowed, the memory of Adelheid Rotmensen resurfacing, but not without purpose. "I've faced monstrous before. I can do it again. If it's Roux and I, we can both do it. We can take Leviathan head on! It's the last thing he'll want if he really isn't as powerful as he seems from a distance. It leaves him just like Kinjo; cornered by two enemies."

Chevalier sat back into the armchair, silent, directing his eyes downwards to the table between before him as he pondered Torsten and Roux's resolve. He had been in this position before – judging the actions and plans of both Masters. That time he had chastised their decisions openly. However, said decisions were why they were still alive now.

"Well?" Saber prompted, sick of sitting in silence. "You dae realise that they've made their minds up already." He stamped his foot for extra effect, the table shuddering.

Chevalier looked up to see both Torsten and Roux glaring intently at him. _So they have. Just like last time._

"If you two think so, who am I to say you can't?" the priest finally conceded, raising his hands in surrender. Torsten couldn't help grin at Chevalier, who returned it heartily. "I think I owe him some payback for the church anyway. What better way to do so than head to head?"

* * *

><p>"So," Leviathan said, circling Saviour's newly acquired pseudo-Servant. "Are you satisfied now, Saviour?" The three of them stood on the Lafayette Bridge, above the sigil imprinted into the Earth underwater by Leviathan. The sun had begun its slow crawl above the horizon, streams of light bursting through the rough edges of Lyon's cityscape.<p>

Saviour had been on a high ever since his encounter with the last two Masters. What he considered his prize claimed, all that was left was to follow through with his Master's plans. "Most certainly. Freed from their clutches, she will prove herself a capable servant to her master. Then, when she has outlived her utility, her death will be a mercy. She has been saved, body and soul after all."

"I wonder to whom you are referring to there as 'master'." Leviathan gave his Servant a sinister grin. Saviour said nothing, standing in awkward silence – caught. Leviathan continued, his Servant adequately pacified. "Moving on, it is soon time to open the Hellmouth."

As soon as Saviour was snapped into his bout of silence, he was snapped out of it. "Really? _Now?_ But Saber and Lancer are not yet eliminated. Isn't the death of all the original Servants a must? That is the only way to activate the Grail itself."

"Lancer can be eliminated at any time. With her soul saved at that." Leviathan's tone was snide at the mention of Lancer, but Saviour was in no place to object. "However, the Hellmouth can wait no longer. I am growing too weak. At this rate, I cannot put up a fight."

Saviour gave his Master a look of concern. The Hellmouth required the absolute power of the Grail to activate, hence the destruction of all Servants and the return of the mana that fuels them to the Grail's vessel, that being Leviathan's homunculus body. With Lancer and Saber still alive, the Grail and by extension the Hellmouth can't be full powered.

"Do not fret, Saviour." Leviathan caught his Servant's glance. "I've never said I cannot activate it before the Grail is activated. It will simply be underpowered until both Saber and Lancer have been destroyed. In the meantime, however, I'll have some of my powers restored to me. Trust your Master for he knows what he does."

Knowing it wise to avoid an argument, Saviour had only one question left. "Then when do we begin?"

"Tonight," Leviathan proclaimed. "Tonight after sundown. Darkness engorges darkness, Saviour; night will only strength the Hellmouth's initial activation." Turning away from his Servant, Leviathan looked out across the waters of the Rhône. "Tonight, the world's end shall begin."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<br>**

Finally, another chapter done! I promise the next one shall come quicker than this. I just started up work again and it slowed everything down for a while. ^^;

But, I'm back on track and we're entering the end game!

Tune in next time, folks.


	41. La Fin du Monde : Part 1

Chapter 41  
>La Fin du Monde : Part 1<p>

Torsten had gotten little sleep after the talk of plans and their lack of one. By the time both him and Roux had retired to bed, the sun had started to rise and fill the room. As frustrating as it's glare was, neither had the will or energy to get up and close the curtains. Instead, both had lay in silence and tried to get a modicum of sleep each. Only Roux had succeeded, Torsten surmised, if her slow but steady breathing next to his ear was any indication.

No real plan had arisen from all their talk, even if it ended on a marginally more positive note than when it began. It was this fact that had kept the warm embrace of sleep. Direct action had been decided upon. But what action? Run in and strike first? Wait until he makes a move and respond in turn? Scenarios replayed over and over in his head of what they could do, but the unknown factor of just what Leviathan was and were planning put a stopper on all but to wait and see.

Gently turning his head to see Roux, he found she was indeed asleep. The promise he made to Lancer reared itself within his mind. Of every worry he had, this was the least of them. Cynicism he preferred to keep buried told him that his chances of living through the War were close to nothing at best in the first place. The promise he made his father to join the War in the first place was his undoing. Whatever reason his father had wanted him to join was beyond knowing now. All that mattered to him now was the Roux escaped with her life.

With uncanny timing, Roux's eyes fluttered open and met Torsten's immediately. For a moment of blissful silence, the pair simply stared at each other. Then Roux let out a long yawn directly into Torsten's face.

"Oh jeez!" Torsten rolled himself away from the blast of warm air. "You need to brush your teeth or something, Jo!" Rolling too far, he quickly fell out of bed and hit the floor hard.

"Huh?" Roux mumbled, still delirious and half-asleep. She raised herself enough to see Torsten lying flat on his face on the floor. "Hey, you rolled out the bed yourself that time, so don't plan on blaming me."

Torsten had to laugh. "Yeah, yeah." Sitting himself on the edge of the bed, he leaned back to catch Roux's form in his peripheral vision. "Sleep well?"

"As well as I could." Shuffling out of bed to find a replacement set of clothes for the oversized t-shirt she had used as makeshift pyjamas, Roux began rummaging in her closet. "How about yourself?"

"Oh, yeah," Torsten lied. "I did okay." With ill timing, he failed to defeat the urge to yawn and let out a long slow moan.

Roux turned and shot him a look as she pulled out a white top and black dress. "'Okay', huh? We can't take on Leviathan unless we're all at full strength. You know you need your rest."

"I know, I know." Torsten stood and stretched. He had slept almost fully clothed, save for his shoes which he had kicked off in mid-fall onto the bed last night. Having no other clothes left to wear, even if his current set were sliced, bloodied and ragged, he would make do. "My mind wouldn't give me much of a chance to."

Sensing there was little she could do to convince Torsten otherwise, Roux dressed herself swiftly before taking a good look out of the window. The sun was already on its way down towards the horizon. "Well, it's already the afternoon. I think we'll need to come up with some kind of strategy tonight or we're dead in the water."

Torsten was surprised by how quickly Roux had changed moods from the night before. It was like the mental switch that was flipped with Lancer's corruption was flipped right back as she slept. He was unsure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but having her in a more constructive state of mind was for the best given what was to come. She was right; they needed a strategy.

* * *

><p>After a solemn group meal, the two remaining Masters of the Holy Grail War, Saber and Chevalier adjourned to the study once more to decide on what they would do from then on. While the mood was higher than the night before, it wasn't having much affect on producing ideas. As twilight quickly approached outside,<p>

"There are too many unknowns," Chevalier said, pacing as usual. "Facing them head on? Fair enough. But we have no idea where to start finding Leviathan, Saviour or Lancer. We don't know the true extent of Saviour's powers beyond what he did to Lancer. It's safe to assume he's a force to be reckoned with, even without a connection to his heavenly forces."

"I can handle anythin' he's got," Saber interjected gruffly. "He's not the problem."

Chevalier cringed, his train of thought interrupted. "I understand that, Saber, but it doesn't change the fact we can't underestimate him. Plan for the worst and hope for the best."

"Regardless, Leviathan is our main problem." Roux's bluntness didn't go unnoticed by anyone else in the room. "He's the one us regular mortals have to take down after all. We'd do best to concern ourselves with him. Saber can handle Saviour, as he said. We all know what Lancer can and can't do. She's less a problem that needs a solution than an obstacle that needs removing."

"Cold, lass, that last part." Saber stared Roux dead in the eyes. Torsten couldn't tell if Saber was honestly insulted or trying to push Roux, but the tension in room became so thick it was a wonder it didn't choke him or Chevalier. "But spot on all the same."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Torsten took the chance to finally move onto Leviathan. "I was up all night – err, morning – thinking about this; about what to do about Leviathan. I came up with nothing. How about everyone else?"

"I'll admit I slept more than I planned," Roux said, sinking into the couch where she sat, content to take a backseat. "Give me a minute."

"Other than how to deal with what I faced in the basement of the Church?" Chevalier mumbled, rubbing his chin like a wise old man. "I'm afraid I'm quite the same as you, Torsten."

Torsten looked to Saber who replied with a shrug. "Donnae look at me, lad. I know as much as you lot about Leviathan. Which is to say, very little."

There was silence in the room as all four of them tried to think of some kind of strategy. Torsten looked to see Roux had shut her eyes while deep in thought. Whether it was tiredness or a simple lack of ideas, he found himself distracted by her slow and gentle breathing. Watching her chest rise and fall with each breath was like confirming she was alive and safe, as he had promised Lancer. With only one more trial left before them, Torsten couldn't help but feel more nervous than usual. It was all down to this.

Roux opened her eyes and caught Torsten's staring eyes. "What?" she asked with a nervous giggle.

"Nothing. Don't worry." Torsten rubbed his eyes and shook his gaze free from her. "Any ideas?"

"Nope," she replied. "Nothing." She gave Torsten a smile, which he didn't know how to properly respond to. "It only leaves us one option."

Now everyone in the room was paying attention to Roux. Her unusual smile widened into a grin. "Why don't we just carry on as usual?"

* * *

><p>As dusk began to settle upon Lyon, Leviathan began a slow march down the Lafayette Bridge. Saviour and his new ward, tasked with the removal of the final Servant and Masters in the War had left his side before he had reached the bridge. It was a warmer night than it had been the past week and the numerous people walking by him and past him on the bridge was evidence to that fact.<p>

That fact that many – all, if his plans went perfectly – of these people would die tonight in the first wave of destruction of the Hellmouth meant nothing to Leviathan but success. His almost human façade, still dressed as a man of the cloth no less, drew no attention but was nothing but a shell. Any humanity that could be assumed to have had from appearance was nothing but an illusion. However, that illusion was not needed for much longer.

Reaching the very middle of the bridge, Leviathan leaned upon the railing and looked down into the water to the crest he had burned into the Earth. His presence and his collection of mana had now given it a dull red aura, visible even through the dark waters of the Rhone. With no hesitation and a grin on his thin lips, he flipped over the railing in one smooth motion and fell into the river.

He never heard the cries of people who saw the mysterious priest plummet into the water. He never saw them run to the railing and look down to see if he was alive. He never even saw the two men that shed their coats and jumped into the water behind him, hell bent on saving his a stranger's life. For, as he sank into the depths of the Rhone and placed two open palms onto the red crest below him, Leviathan poured the mana he carried as the Grail's vessel into it. The crest exploded into a flash of brilliant red light, absorbing Leviathan's entire body into it before going dark.

The two men in the water, one having just tried to latch onto Leviathan's leg only to have it vanish before his eyes, floated for a second of stunned amazement. It was then that everything around them began to quiver, the water around them undulating and forming currents where none were before. In a sudden burst of violence, black tendrils shot from the dulled crest. They wound themselves around the two men, ensnaring their limbs and necks before choking the life out of them and breaking their bones. The tendrils retreated into the crest, leaving the two twisted and distorted corpses to float upwards and break the water's surface.

On the bridge, those gathered there whether by the blinding flash of mysterious red light or Leviathan's fall saw the two bodies arise out of the water. Barely even in the shape of humans, many on the bridge let out cries of horror. But it was not over yet.

The bridge began to shake and strain, metal components shrieking while cracks shot up its stone supports. Those on the bridge began to run, some for the cars they had pulled up to one side, others simply on foot. However, instead of slowly breaking up and collapsing into the water, the bridge instead catastrophically exploded upwards and out, catapulting cars into the air and buildings at the water's edge and sending screaming people into the water. Slabs of stone, and chunks of road rained down on those fortunate enough to get off the bridge but unfortunate to get far enough away.

Those that survived saw the cause of the bridge's destruction. In the centre of the Rhone, a black pillar made of charred flesh had reared itself from the water and rose high into the sky. The river suddenly gave way around the fleshy column, flowing into the hole in the ground that it had been borne from. The flickering lights of fire could be seen within the hole and if Hell itself had just unleashed itself upon Lyon. The truth was not so different.

* * *

><p>The ground shuddered beneath the feet of Torsten, Roux, Saber and Chevalier as they proceeded on their way, on the hunt for Leviathan and Saviour. They had given up attempts at staying low. It went against all the tenets of secrecy that Magus stood by but all four agreed the situation was bigger than the survival of only Magi. On Roux's suggestion, they had all gone in search of Leviathan and Saviour as if her they were any normal Master and Servant pair. The idea had received a mixed a reception from the rest of the group; Torsten was just happy to have a solid plan that was tried and tested while Chevalier and Saber were not so sure. However, Torsten and Roux statuses as Masters won the day and the plan was decided upon. Now, only just having entered the city limits, they were some of the few people unfortunate enough to witness the disaster that was about to befall the entirety of Lyon.<p>

The quake rocked everyone and everything around them. It felt as if it encroached upon them from all sides. However, what felt like the epicentre was behind them and by only a few city blocks at that. Turning in unison, all filled with dread, the Masters, Servant and priest could see, in the distance down the road, a series of pitch black spires had pierced through the surface of the ground, forming a wall across the road they stood upon. Each had a disturbing familiar shape, even if their immense size and craggy surface made it difficult to initially discern.

Roux swallowed back her fear loud enough for Torsten to hear it before she open her mouth. "Teeth. They're teeth."

Unseen by the group, the entire city of Lyon was now within a ring of gigantic teeth of the slowly forming Hellmouth. Nothing stopped their creation; walls and buildings crumbled as the viscous black teeth burst from the ground. At the very centre of it all, in bed of the Rhone, the deep chasm which had formed was beginning to form a rotten, fleshy lining like that of an undead creature and emanate a foul smelling gas. The towering black tendril still stood high in the air, becoming shrouded by the mist of the rancid air coming from deep within the Earth. With the tongue, throat and teeth fully formed, it was certain – Hell on Earth was not so far away.

Panic had overtaken the populace quickly; those that weren't able to physically see either the disaster in the Rhone or the wall of teeth cutting off the city could feel the ever present grinding from underneath the ground as if there was something alive beneath it, squirming and grating it's way below their feet.

However, the worst was still to come. From where Torsten and the others stood, the clouded black tendril in the middle of Lyon was beginning to become visible above the skyline as it grew ever larger, the bottomless, fiery pit it sprouted from widening to the very edges of the river it was decimating. It was then that, like the roar of some ancient beast, a deep and loud sound exploded from the chasm. With it came a plume of rancid gas and air, almost black in colour itself, that shot high into the air before spreading out and raining down on the city. Within seconds, the entire sky was saturated with the unknown substance that was slowly beginning to reach the ground.

"I have a feeling we don't want to know what that will do to people," Chevalier said, grabbing both Torsten and Roux by an arm each and dragging them towards the nearest building – a small, already abandoned cafe whose owners and last customers could be seen bounding down the street, seeking refuge elsewhere.

After all shuffling into the store – closing the doors behind then and using the floor and ceiling bolts to keep them that way – there was a tense silence amongst them. Looking out of the glass storefront, there were still a few people on the streets. Most were running away from the centre of the city, but there were some standing in awe, and certainly horror, at the looming mist that was slowly beginning to reach the ground. In a sick way, those that did not run were more apt in their decision; there was no escape from Lyon now. Running was pointless.

"I think we'll be safe in here. Hopefully that stuff cannae breach the door." Saber said, running his fingers down the rubber seals on the doors.

The first tendrils of mist began to touch down upon the street outside of the group's refuge. It was deceptively swift as it drifted down to the ground, obscuring vision from one side of the road to the other, silhouettes the only thing remaining of those caught in its amorphous mass.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. People running on the street just beyond the glass façade of the café still fled through the dense, black smog, seemingly unaffected by it. Chevalier looked to both Masters. "Don't be fooled." He directed their attention a barely visible man in a well pressed business suit on his hands and knees struggling to breathe in the middle of the road. Amidst the screams of others, his hacking cough could be heard before being abruptly cut off by a car slamming into him, running him down. The dull thud of his skull on the grille could be heard clearly even above the screech of the offending car's tires as a failed attempt at avoid the man after the deed had already been done sent the vehicle flying into a storefront on the opposite side of the street.

Flinching at the sight, Torsten looked away as the collision had occurred. "I don't-" Looking back at the crumpled body of the struck man, he saw him rise slowly from the ground. At first it looked as if he had simply survived, but there was something off. The man had raised himself from the ground like nothing had happened and his gait was now a rough shuffle while he hunched over in an ape-like fashion.

It was then that another person, this time a much younger man – not much older than Torsten and Roux if older at all – ran past the café window. He glanced inside it, his face the picture of fear, when, from behind, the man who had been hit by the car lunged at him from the middle of the street. Showing inhuman agility and strength, he had launched himself at the young man and landed square on his back. Both toppled to the ground, the young man screaming as the deranged businessman started tearing at him with both his hands and his teeth, rending flesh with disturbing ease. The young man was silenced quickly as the businessman kept tearing at him body, slicing his neck open with a single powerful bite.

"Ghouls. The mist turns people into ghouls!" Roux turned to Chevalier after her realisation. "What are the chances that the mist only affects those with a low mana tolerance?"

The priest could offered a hopeful look coupled with a slight shrug of his shoulders in reply. "The only way to find out is to walk out into that mayhem."

"Or I could tell you." A stranger's voice echoed around the cafe, the words spoken in an unearthly whisper. It came from behind the group, sending a chill up all their spines as they realised they weren't alone.

Saber was the first to react, turning on the spot and dragging both Torsten and Roux behind him before raising his blade. Chevalier summoned two Black Keys, one in each hand, and entered a battle stance as he spun around to face the source of the voice.

Before them, the half formed figure of a man was forming out of the floor. His entire, naked upper body was complete and of human appearance, but below his waist was a different story. The floor itself, warped and pulled upwards, formed his lower half which slowly coalesced into flesh as it reached his hips. To all, especially Chevalier, it was clear who the man was even if he looked distinctly more human than the picture all four of them had in their heads.

"Leviathan." The priest resisted the surprisingly powerful urge to unleash his full force upon the creature before him. He knew better than to act on revenge now, but putting that wise thought into action through the use of restraint was proving more difficult than he imagined it would be.

"Indeed, although this particular form is but a powerless, empty shell." To set an example, he formed fists with both hands and slammed them together before him. Both limbs obliterated each other like they were both made of sand before quickly reforming. "Harming this body would mean nothing, but I can't exactly harm you either. Please, lower your weapons before you hurt yourselves." In reply, Saber's grip on his sword tightened and Chevalier spread his feet, preparing for an onslaught he felt had to be coming.

Leviathan let out small, low laugh. "Your fear is unbecoming. I expected more use of this than brawn for the last dregs of the Holy Grail War." He tapped his skull gently with a long finger. His condescension raised the ire of both Masters, against their better judgement. However, it was Torsten that opened his mouth first.

"If you can't hurt us, why show yourself? Are you here just to gloat?" With his scythe in one hand and his other ready to form another at a moment's notice, he was ready to receive punishment for firing back.

"There's the tenacity I expect of a surviving Master! No, I'm here to make one thing clear." The smile forming on his thin lips filled all four of the group with dread.

"And what's that?" Roux said, impatient with Leviathan's manipulative playfulness.

"That you are all going to die and there is naught any of you can do about it."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's<strong>** Note: **

Well, here we are. The beginning of the end! I hope it ends up as exciting as I planned it to be, because this is one of the first sections / sequences of scenes I had down in my head when I started. That's going back a bit, heh. ^^;

Hopefully my release schedule should accelerate from this point on, but I make no promises.

I suppose I should mention, as a teaser and just to put it out there, I plan on releasing Servant summaries for the Servants in F/G as an appendix after the epilogue. I believe I received a request for it a while back, but it was going to happen anyway. I hope you all like those when it comes to that time.

Anyway, as usual, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and tune in next time!


	42. La Fin du Monde : Part 2

Chapter 42  
>La Fin du Monde : Part 2<p>

"A bold statement, even from you. You underestimate us; that's going to be your downfall," Chevalier fired back. He held his stance firm, unwilling to give into Leviathan's absurd request to lower their weapons. Even if he were telling the truth, Leviathan was beyond trusting merely as a matter of course.

Leviathan's smile turned into a disturbing toothy grin. The reaction he received was just too perfect. "You saw what happened out there, what the gas does to the victims of Pride and those weak of the soul. You may have kept your number advantage despite losing your precious Lancer, but even that is lost to you now. You have no right to talk of my downfall, man of the cloth."

Even if none of the group would say it out loud, Leviathan had a point. A legion of Ghouls would be a formidable enemy as it was. Who could say how many innocents had been turned by the mist by now? It would be an uphill battle to simply confront Leviathan, Saviour or Lancer now. However, they all knew that to falter in bravado now, even false bravado, would be a fatal mistake.

"You expect a mass of Ghouls to take us down?" Roux said, puffing out her chest perhaps a tad too much.

"No." Leviathan's answer was instantaneous and so blunt it took everyone off guard. He raised a hand and pointed behind the group to the street outside. "I expect _her_ to."

Against his better judgement, Saber turned to see Lancer standing like a statue across the street from the café, Gungnir in hand. Her corrupted, blank eyes met Saber's and, like a switched was flipped in her mind, Lancer sprang to life. Like a bullet fired from a gun, she exploded from a standstill and sprinted across the street before leaping in the air, spear first. Her trajectory was straight at Roux, who was only just beginning to look behind herself.

"No!" Saber bellowed. He acted quickly, taking one hand from his blade and wrapping it around Roux. Before she could even tell what was happening, Roux was thrown across the café to safety. She hit ground hard to one side of the group just as Lancer burst through the front window.

As glittering shards of glassed rained down, Saber met Lancer's Gungnir with his blade. A metallic crash rang out as their weapons collided in a burst of sparks. Chevalier dragged Torsten away from the Servants, the young Master's eyes affixed not to Lancer but to the disappearing form of Leviathan; he sank back into the floor, a grin on his face all the while, leaving no trace that he had ever shown himself.

It was immediately apparent to Saber that Lancer gave no quarter as she was now. There was no hope of talking with her, no hope of using reason. The moment they had clashed and her steel booted feet had slammed to the ground, she unleashed an onslaught of fast and furious jabs at her former ally that were all made to kill. Saber was barely agile enough to dodge or block them all, leaving him in a state of pure defence. With every attack Lancer made, she pushed forward; Saber was forced to backpedal, lest he be skewered and the fight lost within the first minute.

On the other side of the café, just righting herself, Roux saw the two Servants fighting and found herself at a rare loss as to what to do. To interrupt the fight would mean certain death, but Saber was fighting _her_ Servant. She felt compelled to do something, but Roux knew that there was nothing she could do but watch in agony as Saber fought to eliminate who was once her most trusted ally.

That was, until, she heard a bloodcurdling screech from beyond the entrance to the café. Ghouls, freshly turned from the mist outside that was now slowly seeping into the café and beginning to disperse outside, had heard the cacophony and come to devour whatever they could. The turned businessman that been the first one they had seen was also the first Ghoul to make the leap into the café through the broken window. As it landed, it looked around the café with crazed eyes, seeking a meal. Being far across the room, it ignored Roux. Instead, its gaze landed upon both Chevalier and Torsten. With no hesitation, it charged at them, teeth bared and arms spread.

* * *

><p>Chevalier noticed the Ghoul from the off, directing Torsten's attention to it with a quick nudge before letting fly one of his Black Keys. It was a direct hit, piercing the Ghoul through the head. The Key was thrown with enough force to flip the dead body end over end before it splattered to the ground.<p>

Summoning another Key to give him two once more, he looked to Torsten. "Our job is to keep the Ghouls at bay. Clear?" He had already shifted into his strange battle persona that had little time to mince words.

"Crystal." Torsten raised his scythe and followed the priest as he made a break for the broken window and the disaster zone outside. Chevalier threw himself out the window, rolling as he landed and on his feet in less than a second. Torsten landed behind him directly onto his feet, having vaulted through the window.

Although the mist had begun to dissipate, thin, tendril-like patches of it still lingered in the streets. However, it was the figures in the veil of black gas that were the real problem. There were at least ten Ghouls within running distance of the front of the café – all of them now had Chevalier and Torsten in their sights.

Just as the closest few charged, all of them women who looked to have been on a night out in town before being turned, Chevalier spoke. "Ever been a decoy, Torsten?"

"Not exactly, no." Torsten braced himself, projecting a second scythe to one hand and shifting the genuine article to the other.

"There is but one golden rule to remember." Chevalier took aim at one of the oncoming Ghouls and let fly a Black Key. "What lies behind us is the only important thing in this world now. By that reasoning..." The Key found it's mark, skewering the Ghoul through the head, dropping it in an instant. "We have no right to die – we must survive."

Torsten smiled a grim smile. "That I can manage."

* * *

><p>Lancer's assault was relentless. As much as Saber could block her strikes, that was all he could manage. The Valkyrie's unbelievable speed made counterattack nigh impossible. All Saber could do was hold as much ground as possible while the head of Gungnir came dangerously close to ending his life with every one of Lancer's thrusts.<p>

For her part, she showed no signs of stress or strain. Without being under Saviour's command, she was already a focused and brutally efficient fighter. However, within his mental clutches and stripped of any emotional capacity, she had nothing left to her but violence and brutality. She was a perfect killing machine.

In the face of such a threat, Saber's already slim hope that Lancer could be saved vanished. He caught glimpses of her hollow, white eyes between her vicious blows and saw no evidence of a soul left. As much as it hurt, it also bolstered his resolve. "I'm sorry, lass. It's not your fault."

In a gambit, he lowered his blade a few inches after parrying a blow. Enough to entice an attempt at a risky – but possibly decisive – strike from Lancer. To his relief, she took the bait. The Valkyrie launched a full-power thrust at Saber's chest. Mustering all the speed his bulky body could handle, Saber rolled around the spear tip as it threatened to pierce him straight through the heart. With his back to Lancer for a split second, he knew he was taking another gamble.

To his relief, he found himself free of an attack from behind. But, as he spun back around, his sword outstretched and ready to cleave Lancer in two, he swivelled on the spot to find no one behind him.

"Above you!" cried a familiar voice from one side of the café.

Looking up, Saber saw the figure of Lancer, plummeting to the ground with Gungnir pointed directly down at his head. There was no time to dodge. Instead, Saber used his great blade like a bat, swinging it's flat side at the Servant above him. Lancer braced herself, raising an armoured hand to her face, as the flat of the sword collided with her. She was catapulted across the small café, crashing through it's back wall into the kitchen and disappearing in a cloud of debris.

Saber took the chance to thank his saviour. "Almost a goner there, lass. I owe ye one." He turned to see Roux, dishevelled from the mighty throw he had given her but otherwise alive and unharmed.

"She's really gone, isn't she?" Roux's question caught Saber off guard.

"We donnae have time for this," dismissed Saber, trying to end the conversation before it truly started. He took up his sword in both hands and made to follow Lancer's path into the ruined kitchen before she took it upon herself to counter-attack.

Roux took up the rapier she brought with her and began to follow Saber. "I'll help."

"Are ye insane?" Saber roared, stopping in his tracks. "Lancer is a Servant and not the person we once knew! She'll tear you tae pieces in an instant if she gets the chance now. I can't let you-"

"I wasn't asking for your approval, Saber." Roux looked past Saber into the ruined kitchen. Suddenly, she activated her Mystic Eye of Illusion. As her right eye shone a bright purple, she yelled. "No time for dissuading me, here she comes!"

Saber raised his sword to head height before moving anything else. His intuition proved spot on as, just as he craned his neck, Gungnir slammed into his blade and almost took him off his feet. Lancer barely looked dishevelled from her unexpected trip into the kitchen. Saber couldn't help but feel a slight sense of dread begin to creep it's way into his thoughts. Lancer was tough. More than a match for himself on a good day. With Roux insistent on joining the fight, things were only going to get more complicated.

That feeling was confirmed when Saber noticed Lancer's eyes shift from him to Roux, who was standing only a few metres to one side of him. _I knew it. She's gonnae target the lass!_

In a flash, Lancer dislodged herself from Saber and launched a kick to his stomach. Saber saw through the move and slid around the leg as it flew at him. His motion brought him quite deliberately between Lancer and Roux. "I told you she'd try and kill ye first!"

Lancer never let up. Like before, she unleashed blow after blow upon Saber and prevented an sort of counterattack. This time, however, Saber didn't have the luxury of being able to fallback. Behind him was Roux, or, so he thought.

"Surprise." Roux's voice rang out across the café, but from all directions at once.

Lancer heard it too, clashing with Saber and holding his blade in place as she looked around. Saber joined her to find the room filled with copies of Roux. Some were standing, rapiers held high and ready to strike while others merely stood staring right at Lancer, defenceless. While the multitude of Rouxs in the room came as no surprise to Saber, Lancer's reaction did. The Valkyrie looked confused, wildly looking around herself as if she was not privy to her own former Master's powers.

Not one to ask questions, Saber took his chance. Taking a hand from his sword, he unleashed a short, sharp jab to Lancer's face. She attempted to dodge while still locked with Saber, but to little avail. The blow landed squarely on her chin, making her head spin for a few precious seconds as Saber tore his blade away from Gungnir and lunged at her. Lancer blocked clumsily, head still reeling, to which Saber followed up with another blow that was blocked just as shoddily.

As much as Lancer had speed on her side, Saber had power far beyond hers. Even properly blocking a full strength attack from Saber could jar her arms and cause immense pain or worse. It was this risky situation she wanted to avoid from the start of the battle. Now on the back foot, she knew it would be hard to regain control of the fight.

Saber gave Lancer a dose of her own medicine, unleashing himself upon her without stopping. As the pair manoeuvred around the room in an almost dance-like pattern, the many illusionary Rouxs parted and moved out of the way. Saber knew the reason why; if disturbed, the clones would either disappear or be revealed as clones. The longer Roux could get away with hiding herself amongst a mass of her own image, the better so keeping them out of the fray would suit her best for now.

Saber had pushed Lancer to one side of the café. Effectively, her back would be up against the wall within four retreating steps. It was now or never for her. Blocking one last blow from Saber, Lancer pushed her spiritual body to it's limit, driving herself forward against the great swordsman's bulk. At first, the surprise of her last stand caught Saber off guard and managed to actually force him to take a few steps back which Lancer kept up with. However, after the initial shock and with a mighty strength building roar, Saber pushed back.

While both Saber and Lancer were Servants, beings capable of amazing power, the difference in brute strength between the too was immediately apparent. Lancer refused to budge, gritting her teeth and digging her armoured feet into the floor. Saber loomed above her, forcing her down if she would not retreat. It was then that, entering the peripheral vision of both Servants, one of the many forms of Roux standing watch tenaciously sprung to life.

_What the Hell is she doing?!_ Saber's mind screamed as one of the Rouxs charged at them. If it was the real Roux, she could do nothing to actually harm Lancer with her rapier. Mortal weapons were useless on a Servant. As such, if it was simply an illusion, it's unlikely it would even be able to pull off a successful fake out if Lancer did not fear any form of harm.

It was then that the figure of Roux reached the pair of Servants and, to both their amazement, hunkered down low and delivered a bone shattering kick to Lancer's armour-plated legs. As the Roux's leg slammed into the ornate steel covering Lancer's shins, it broke like a matchstick and released a fine spray of blood across the the floor and Lancer's feet. The Roux let out an almighty scream of pain, before collapsing to the ground. While Lancer simply held her ground, looking slightly confused but unharmed, Saber looked on in horror at the sight of what appeared to be the real Roux in agony on the floor.

However, to his relief, the screaming figure began to evaporate where it lay, leaving nothing behind. Even the blood spray on Lancer' feet vanished. Still not exactly sure what Roux was hoping to achieve with that display, Saber unleashed his own sweep at Lancer's right leg. This time, the attack had an impact.

Saber couldn't manage to entirely topple Lancer, but his kick was solid and knocked her to one knee. Making one final push, Saber let fly his massive foot again. This time, it landed squarely in the centre of Lancer's chest. Despite her armour, the blow was catastrophic. Instantly winded, the first sound to pass her lips since her turning was made and it was a desperate gasp for air. Strength left her for a split second and she fell back to the ground, hitting her head hard on the floor. Saber was quickly to dislodge himself from Gungnir and bat it to one side before stamping it with an armoured boot to floor. He held it there, his foot lying right on her fingers that were wrapped around it. He dropped his second foot directly onto Lancer's chest once again, this time pinning her to the ground.

Lancer was between a rock and a hard place now. To take her hand off Gungnir to aid in her escape from under Saber would mean losing her weapon as he'd surely kick it away. However, with only one free hand, she had little chance of wrench the massive Servant's foot from her torso.

"End of the line." His words were solemn and lacking in his usual battle fervour. Outside of Lancer, they would have been barely audible over the sounds of disaster and screeches of Ghouls outside. Motion out of the corner of his eye gave him pause; one of the many Rouxs surrounding him took a few steps forward to stand at his side.

The Roux grabbed at Saber's arm, confirming she was the genuine article or at least another solid copy, before speaking. "Is there really nothing we can do?" Roux was close to tears, Saber could tell. "Is there really nothing left in there of her?"

The pair of them looked into Lancer's blank eyes as she clawed at Saber's foot with one hand. They were as lifeless and hollow as when she was first turned, to both their dismay.

The copies of Roux around the café began to dissolve. As Saber had said, Roux knew it was the end. All that was left now was for Saber to land the killing blow.

"Don't look, lass," Saber murmured as he raised his sword high above his head, looking to Roux. "This is not something ye should see." She took his advice, closing her eyes tight and turning her head.

Then, there came a rasping voice from near the floor. "Gungnir."

Saber didn't see his right leg get shredded by the spear in Lancer's hand and neither did Roux. If they had been watching, they would have seen the very space around his limb distort as the power of Gungnir activated. The spear twisted and deformed with space, piercing Saber's thigh and bursting out the other side in an instant before resetting in shape and looking to all the world as if Saber's leg had simply exploded into a wash of blood.

Saber roared as he tore his leg away, lest it be torn from his body. As he did so, Lancer immediately ripped Gungnir up through the air, aiming to take off his head with its bladed tip. He ducked backwards, stumbling off of her body and almost collapsing to the ground himself. Saber's leg hurt, but he could still just manage to stand on it. However, his own safety was not his main concern – Roux had taken only a single step back from Lancer who had just leapt to her feet and looked ready to tear her to pieces.

Lancer's attack was swift and final. With one thrust, she skewered Roux through the centre of her chest. With a blood splattered final cough, Roux went motionless on the end of Gungnir.

All Saber could do was scream.

* * *

><p>The Ghouls were relentless and of almost limitless number. Both Chevalier and Torsten had slain at least thirty all up – Chevalier dealing with most – but more would soon come, attracted by the cacophony of their foul brethren's deaths and clatter of steel. As such, it rarely felt like progress was being made. However, despite the onslaught, Torsten knew they were doing their job. The pair of them made enough racket and noise to completely occupy the Ghouls.<p>

"C'mon!" Chevalier yelled over the screech of another eviscerated beast. "We need to lead them away from here entirely!" Pulling his Black Key free from his last kill, he scored another as he threw it into the head of another as it threatened to leap at him.

Torsten hesitated; slashing at the claws of a Ghoul and cutting them clean off. "We can't just leave them in there. What if something happens?"

"Do you want to join combat with Lancer, a Servant?" Chevalier began manoeuvring himself away from the café front, slicing and dicing Ghouls as he went with what seemed to be limitless Black Keys. "Because that's the same as wishing for your own death. Roux has her reasons for helping Saber. We have to protect them now. Getting these monsters away from them is the be-" Cut-off mid-speech, a loud yell from inside the café rang out across the street. It was Saber.

Chevalier paused. "Maybe you're right. But neither of us are to go inside. We need to keep these Ghouls out here!"

* * *

><p>Time felt like it had frozen. Saber stared at the dead body of Roux hanging on the end of Lancer's spear and hoped beyond hope it was another copy. He glanced frantically to each side of him, looking for another Roux – the real Roux – but to no avail. However as soon as despair had struck him, it vanished in the flames of rage.<p>

"How could you!?" he screamed. "Are you really so completely gone?! She loved you! She loved you and you just killed her."

Lancer replied with nothing but the turning of her head to look at Saber, cocking it slightly in confusion. Saber snarled at her, her obliviousness, while not a fault of her own, contemptuous. However, it was that moment that Saber heard a whisper from right behind him and another soft touch, this time on his back.

"Strike now."

The familiar voice gave Saber hope and he did not hesitate. Lunging at Lancer, he made to slice her from the shoulder down. The lithe Valkyrie saw an attack coming. She tried to rip her spear from the dead body of Roux, only to find it stuck. Tearing her eyes away from her attacker, she looked to the dead body on the end of Gungnir to find it well and truly alive. The bloodied and battered copy of Roux was gripping Gungnir's shaft and had dug her feet into the ground. One more strong tug and Lancer could easily rip the copy to pieces. However, there was no more time for that strong tug. Saber was quickly upon her and, without a proper means to defend herself, Lancer's blank eyes went wide.

As he brought his blade down upon his former ally, Saber had only two words. "I'm sorry."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<br>**

Another chapter closer to the finish line! I can wager readers would have gathered by now I love writing a good fight scene. This one in particular felt really good to write. You spend two years writing about these two powerful characters and eventually get to thinking which one would best the other in a fight. Let's just say that Roux's help was rather necessary as far as I see, heh.

As usual, I hope you enjoyed the read. We really are getting close to the end, folks, so stick around. I hope it ends up as thrilling as I envision it to be.

Tune in next time!


	43. La Fin du Monde : Part 3

Chapter 43  
>La Fin du Monde : Part 3<p>

Lancer was hit squarely on her left shoulder, Saber's blade cutting deep into her torso. It scored through her armour, demolished her ribs and ripped apart one of her lungs before Saber withdrew it. The blow was fatal, severing her almost in two in the same manner as Archer was destroyed. For the same reason – a set of armour – the true extent of the wound was hidden from onlookers to the scene.

Time slowed to heart wrenching crawl for all involved. Saber couldn't bear to look at Lancer as her limbs lost their strength one by one, her fingers letting Gungnir slip and clatter to the floor as the fake Roux skewered on it's tip disappeared. The real Roux, safely hidden behind Saber, had witnessed the final blow from start to finish. Saber was right, in the end. It was something she didn't need to see. However, there was no taking that back now. As she saw Lancer drop to her knees and begin to achingly fall backwards, Roux knew what to do.

She shot out from behind Saber, ignoring his barked warning that Lancer was still dangerous and ran to her former Servant's side. Flopping to her own knees, she caught Lancer's limp body in her arms. Her eyes were clenched shut as pain fired through her body. However, it was for more than her wound that she was in great pain. Opening one of her eyes by a fraction, Roux could see that her vivid blues had returned. On the brink of death, Saviour's hold on her friend had been relinquished. Lancer was Lancer once again.

Saber stood silently above the pair as Lancer struggled to open her eyes against the instinct her pain racked body wished to follow. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Master." The Valkyrie looked on the verge of tears, while Roux had already taken that step. As her Servant spoke, Roux shuddered as she tried to keep her sobbing to a minimum. "I tried to kill you. I remember it all as if I really meant to do it."

"Shhh," Roux crooned. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault."

Lancer shook her head. "No... No, I couldn't resist his attempts to control me. I failed you the moment he grabbed me, Master." A thin line of tears streamed from her eyes as her face contorted in pain again.

"Nonsense." Saber's gruff voice cut above the sobbing of both women. "Saviour's the one to blame here. I'll have none o' that business about it being yer fault."

Lancer looked past her Master to see Saber looking the most dejected and ruined she had ever seen. "In that case, I hope you realise that what you had to do was his fault as well. Thank you. It couldn't have been easy."

"I'm sorry it came tae this." The brusqueness of Saber's natural voice belied the pain behind it. "I only did what I could."

Giving Saber a final small nod, Lancer turned her attention back to Roux. "You'll be okay without me now. Leviathan is not all that he seems. His powers are not as absolute as his posturing will make it seem. You can destroy him, Master."

"Please, call me Josephine." Roux's grip on her Servant tightened as she noticed her body going further limp. "I... I didn't want to lose you like this, Lancer."

Lancer made a sad smile. "I'm afraid neither of us had a say in this, Josephine." Saying her Master's name, without hesitation, was a surprisingly euphoric feeling. But, at the same time, she could feel everything begin to fall away like her mind was separating from her body and plummeting down a cliff face.

"I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you!" Roux clutched Lancer tighter, pulling her their faces close together.

"Goodbye. Be strong."

With her last words said as little more than a whisper in her Master's ear, Lancer's body began to dissolve into a vibrant silver mist. Slowly, the weight of her Servant began to vanish from Roux's arms until there was nothing left to hold but the faint silhouette of her former protector's head. And, in the blink of an eye, even that disappeared, leaving nothing behind as even the silver mist faded away.

There was a moment of silence, both out of respect and the simple inability for either Roux or Saber to talk. Then, Roux was overwhelmed. Letting out a howling cry, she slumped forward where she knelt. The sadness and the pain fell upon her like an avalanche down the side of a mountain. Roux knew she had to get up, to help the others, but she couldn't bear to do it. Bewteen her sobbing gasps, however, she heard heavy footsteps to one side of her.

The bulky figure of Saber slowly came into view as he kneeled by her. Roux felt the firm but gentle grip of his arm wrap around her and pull her close. "Donnae worry about the others. Let this out now so that ye can fight later."

"I..." Roux began before Saber cut her off.

"I'll destroy him, lass. I'll make sure Lancer is avenged." Saber looked Roux in the eye. She could see the anger behind them. "I promise."

Saying nothing, Roux merely returned Saber's embrace.

* * *

><p>Torsten had lost count of the amount of Ghouls Chevalier and he had slain. The street was strewn with their corpses as the battle with them had raged. They were numerous enough to have begun hampering both fighter's footwork and forced the pair to negotiate their way down the street from the café. Thankfully, the Ghouls seemed more interested in the young man and priest on the street rather than anything in any of the buildings. However, it was not the assault of Ghouls that worried either of them, but the fight behind both that did. Everything had gone quiet, with not a single clash of weapons to be heard. It could be over, but the question on both their minds was "Who was the victor?"<p>

However, much to their relief, there was only five Ghouls left. Two of them had already sustained near fatal injuries and were screaming in pain on the ground. The three that remained a threat were all so far away that Chevalier took it upon himself, after withdrawing both Black Keys he held from a freshly eviscerated, to target two of them. In a flash, both Black Keys fly from his hands and skewered their respective targets. With one left, Chevalier motioned to Torsten to take it down.

Trying to emulate the priest's long range tactics, Torsten shifted his scythe to one hand and projected another. Spinning on his heel, Torsten threw the projected scythe with the weapon held horizontally. Spinning through the air at speed, the inner blade of the scythe missed it's mark. Instead, the outside of the blade slammed into the last Ghoul's torso. However, it still sliced deep into it's gut before dragging it to the ground.

"Best stick to what you know, Torsten." Chevalier slowly meandered around the corpses of the Gouls, approaching the last two left alive but crippled and putting an end to them with a single Black Key to the head. He finally reached the last one Torsten had taken down. It writhed around as the projected scythe embedded in it's stomach began to fade. He quickly dispatched it before it could get off the ground. "You do much better in the thick of it than you probably think."

Chevalier's flat 'combat mode' voice made his advice and small compliment seem like output from some mechanical drone, but that was the least of Torsten's worries. "We need to check on Saber and Roux."

"Correction: I'll check on them. I want you to stay here for the moment," the priest said as he turned to the café. Before Torsten could voice he protest, Chevalier continued. "Someone needs to take out any more Ghouls should they turn up. Just wait here." The conversation over before Torsten even opened his mouth, Chevalier took a running leap into the café through the broken window and disappeared within.

Left with nothing but the many dead bodies of the Ghouls he had helped destroy, Torsten backed up against the closest wall and slumped to the floor. It was now, in this small reprieve from constant danger and struggle that he realised just how tired he was and just how much pain he was in.

His arms and legs ached as if someone had been trying to tear them from their sockets. His chest stung at the cut he was given by Kinjo had begun to reopen and become logged with sweat. Holding up a shaking hand to his face, Torsten wriggled his numbing fingers only to find them moving as if they were buried in treacle. If it wasn't for his worry for Roux, he probably would have simply passed out then and there. However, following Chevalier's order was best at this point. The priest knew what he was doing.

Despite all their plans, Torsten felt almost as lost as he did when Saber first crashed through his roof. His father's promise was still a mystery, the Ware itself had fallen apart around them and now both Roux and he had to take on some kind of abomination for more than just their own sake – the world could be on the line. It was all too much to think about, too hard to think about. As such, he decided he'd focus on one thing and one thing only: his promise to Lancer. It was the only thing that made sense.

"Torsten!" Roux's instantly recognisable voice sliced through his weariness and brought him back to life. Scrambling off the ground and up onto his feet, Torsten looked to the cafe to see Chevalier, Saber and Roux walking solemnly towards him. Lancer was nowhere to be found. As the group got closer, Roux's reddened eyes made it clear she had been crying. It was clear what had happened. Torsten had so wished for a miracle to occur, for Lancer to be released from Saviour's control unharmed. Now, however, it seemed that his promise with Lancer was all that remained of her.

Roux sped up and separated from the priest and the Servant, almost running to Torsten when he got to his feet. Without a word, she latched onto him in the tightest hug he had ever felt. Torsten was surprised she wasn't still in tears, but at the same time, Roux was the type that knew crying wouldn't help anyone in this situation. Right now was not the time for mourning, but for action.

Chevalier was quick to keep everyone on their toes. "We don't have much time. Saviour and Leviathan aren't going to wait for our grief to ebb away." Saber nodded in solemn agreement.

Roux let Torsten go and looked him in the eye. "C'mon. It's time we put an end to this."

* * *

><p>Saviour's connection to Lancer, while not the same as a Master would have to a Servant, did give him the ability to perceive her presence and mana. When hers began to fade, the fallen angel heaved a sigh of regret. He stood alone, near the fractured Lafayette bridge, when her sensed her life was finally snuffed out. It was to be expected – she was the decoy that would soften up the only opposition left against Leviathan. Her soul was saved, Saviour thought, the moment she was under his control. That was his saving grace in her swift passing.<p>

Now, however, the matter of the remaining Masters and Servant needed to be addressed. He looked out to the waters of the Rhone to see what had become of his Master. The great black tendril that had risen from the chasm in the river had grown larger, thicker and continued to build in strength. It was then that, morphing out of the pavement to one side of him, Leviathan appeared before Saviour.

"I expected more of her, Saviour," Leviathan said with a snide grin. "But, I will not hold it against you." He suddenly dropped the air of pretension and mind games, becoming deathly serious. "Remove the Servant. I'll handle the others."

"Yes, Master."

"And, Saviour?" Leviathan stopped his Servant who made to leave. "Do not fail me."

"Of course, Master."

* * *

><p>Torsten, Saber, Roux and Chevalier ran through Lyon's chaotic streets, at all times vigilant for Ghouls or worse. Abandoned cars, lifeless bodies and debris lay scattered on every road they traversed. Broken glass from desperate people trying to break and enter to escape the fumes released by the Hellmouth and the following Ghoul attacks littered the pavement, while outdoor seating for restaurants and anything else not bolted to the floor had been thrown out onto the street. One or two cars with living occupants passed the group as they powered down the street, heading away from the city centre, the group's target. None stopped and some accelerated, threatening to run them all down if they did not give way. Either way, with the wall around the city, no car would help them escape.<p>

Not many Ghouls remained on the streets – they had left to hunt for flesh elsewhere. Those that were left were either outrun by the group or quickly dispatched by Saber or Chevalier without losing a beat. There was no talk between them, however. There was nothing left to talk about. Finding Saviour and Leviathan then destroying the pair of them was all that was left to them now. With their best bet on finding either being at the central living spire they could see on the skyline, forging a path there was the one and only plan available to them.

The group eventually reached a slight bend in the road they ran down that led straight to the base of the spire. In the distance, many blocks away, it's entire height could be seen. It was more massive than any of they initially imagined. They all picked up the pace for a block before a lone, shining figure became clear on the road ahead.

Chevalier, at the head of the pack, slowed down and eventually stopped in the centre of an intersection, the rest following suit as he motioned to the figure ahead. "Saviour."

Still a full block away, the fallen angel was slowly walking towards the group. In one hand, he held his gleaming golden short sword while the other hand was curled into a fist. On his face, the smile not unlike that of a hunter who had spotted his prey.

Saber pushed past the Masters and Chevalier. "Go around." He point to the left, down an empty street. "Get tae Leviathan while I deal with this one."

Chevalier nodded, taking off down the street with haste with Roux in tow. Torsten, however, hesitated. "This... This could be the last time we see each other, Saber."

"We donnae have time for this! You need tae get going." Saber kept his eyes on Saviour who seemed content to stroll down the street before them with not a care in the world. "We'll see each other before the end, lad. Now, _go_."

"I'll hold you to that," Torsten said with a nervous laugh. For a second, there was silence, but he didn't move. Instead, he looked at the Command Seals left on his hand. Two remained. "Saber, I order you to live through this."

This time, Saber turned to look at his Master, confusion spread across his face. "What the hell are ye-" Torsten's brand shone brightly as his absolute command was issued to his Servant. However, as potent as the Spells are, their power comes from the specificness of the command itself. Wishing for Saber to 'live through this' was far too vague for much of an effect, if any at all. As such, Saber baulked at the very idea his Master would make such a wish. It was lunacy and Torsten should know it. "You just wasted a Spell?"

"No, I think I put one to good use. Try dying on me now!" Torsten rushed out his words as he took off down the street, less one Spell and his back to his own Servant.

"What? You cheeky wee bastard!" Saber yelled out after his Master to receive nothing but a wave in reply. "I cannae believe he wasted a Spell on..."

"Think fast."

Saber suddenly remembered that he was about to battle Saviour as his ethereal voice cut across his mumblings. He swung his head around to see his angelic foe just in time to see Saviour's short sword barrelling towards the bridge of his nose. Saber bent backwards below Saviour's attack, letting it pass above his face by millimetres. He swipe at Saviour with his sword, forcing him back and away.

Regaining his stance, Saber backed away himself, creating a distance of a few metres between them. "You should have kept yer mouth shut, angel – you could have at least hit me then. Why speak up?"

"I'm sorry you don't believe in fair competition. Attacking a distracted opponent seems rather devious even for me." Saviour's dig was accompanied by a snide grin. He lowered himself into a more comfortable position from which to defend himself and held firm where he stood.

"Coming from a man who ambushed my friend and turned her intae a mindless puppet tae do your dirty work while skulk, away from the threat o' harm or death, like a coward, a bit... _rich_." Saber spat his words at Saviour, trying in vain to keep a tab on his fury.

"She had plenty of time to mount a defence. She was simply not good enough," Saviour said, raising his head just enough to look down his nose at Saber. He continued. "Given your ragged appearance and the fact you can barely stand on that torn apart leg, I'd say she _was_ good enough to put you right where I want you – fit enough to run to me, weak enough to fall to me." The fallen angel sneered as he observed his words taking affect in Saber, infuriating him.

"Enough talk, you bastard! I'll skin you and make a baldrick for my sword!" Saber hesitated no longer. Sweeping his sword high above his head, he leapt at Saviour and began the final battle of Servants the Holy Grail War of Lyon would play host to.

* * *

><p>Torsten quickly caught up with Roux and Chevalier. Easily circumnavigating the street where Saber and Saviour would battle, they took the first right to get back on track. This road did not end right at the base of the tendril, which to them appeared to be at the Lafayette bridge, but they would hit the street lining the Rhone all the same. However, as the three ran down the street, Chevalier felt they were being watched.<p>

"Keep on guard," he cried while speeding up. Both Torsten and Roux struggled to keep up with his battle harden endurance. "Can you feel it? We're being watched from all directions."

Both Torsten and Roux took careful glances around themselves as they followed Chevalier and, to their horror, those that watched them decided to present themselves. Ghouls, holed up in buildings that lined the street began to pour from every doorway, fall from every window and crawl out from every alleyway and flood the street all around them. There were hundreds – far too many for even all three to take down.

That, however, meant little to Chevalier, who positioned himself directly in front of the two Masters. "Roux, behind me. Torsten, behind Roux. Single file, now! Stop for nothing, keep running!"

Doing as instructed, the Masters lined up behind Chevalier. Ghouls leapt at them from all sides, trying to tackle just one person to the ground. To be caught would mean to be torn apart, spurring on both Torsten and Roux to run harder and faster. Chevalier, however, had begun to clear a path before the group with a copious amount of Black Keys launched like missiles from his hands. As quickly as a Ghoul threatened to enter the group's path, the priest would surgically remove them with one deft throw of a Black Key.

After a few tense seconds of running a gamut of leaping and lunging Ghouls that lusted after the group's flesh, Chevalier, Torsten and Roux broke through the mass of cannibalistic monsters, only for the priest to start barking orders again. "Alright, Roux to the left and Torsten to the right – Go!"

Hesitating for but a second, both Master split to one side of Chevalier while, to their horror, he stopped in place ans spun on the spot to face the horde of Ghouls behind them. Roux and Torsten skidded to a halt, the latter letting his tongue loose. "What are you doing?"

"What did I say but seconds ago?" Chevalier spoke as he summoned a set of Black Keys, one to a hand, and prepared to meet the monsters head on. "_Stop for nothing, keep running._ Go!"

"We can't just leave you!" Roux protested.

"GO!" Chevalier dismissed her with but one word as the Ghouls reached him. In what seemed to be a fit of berserker-like rage, he lunged into their mass, ripping dozens apart as he did so.

"C'mon!" Torsten sped to Roux's side and tugged at her arm, dragging her back into a run.

Looking back, Roux saw the Ghouls envelope the priest's form as limbs and blood went flying where he cut a swathe through their mass. Thankfully, Chevalier's ploy succeeded and no Ghouls bothered to chase after the pair of Masters who were now left to confront Leviathan alone.

* * *

><p>Roux and Torsten reached the end of the street after only a few minutes of running, reaching the road that lined the Rhone and stopping to catch their breaths. Only one block across from the street occupied by Savior and Saber's battle that led onto the Lafayette bridge, both Masters were now almost at the base of the gargantuan black tentacle that rose from the depths of the river. It was truly humongous in size, towering above many of the surrounding buildings, and seemed to be made of disgusting, necrotic flesh. It swayed strangely in the air, like it was trying to balance itself and stay erect.<p>

Taking nervous steps from the middle of the intersection, the Masters made their way to the pavement on the Rhone's edge and found the river lower than usual. Looking down river to the base of the black tendril, they found it had rose from a chasm in the riverbed. An eerie, flaming glow came from the hole despite the constant pour of water from the Rhone.

"What _is_ that thing?" Torsten gasped. "Is... Is that Leviathan?" His mind ran wild as he tried to fathom how they could possibly fight something of that size.

Roux gulped. She came to a very different conclusion about the jiggling black mass. "No, I don't think so. I... I think that is a massive tongue."

Torsten's eyes went wide. "A _tongue?_ Whose – what's – tongue?"

"Remember quakes all around us? The massive wall of spikes that burst from the ground? What if they were teeth? What if the hole that thinghas sprouted from is a throat?" Roux stopped to let her words take effect. It didn't take long.

"Oh God... You think..." As the truth dawned on him, Torsten couldn't help but feel like they had already lost.

"Yes," Roux affirmed. "That thing is a giant tongue, that hole a throat and those spikes were teeth. Torsten, the entire city is already ensnared in the Hellmouth. The entire city _is_ the Hellmouth. It's like a gigantic city-wide Reality Marble, not unlike Saber's." Roux spoke flatly of their predicament, but her drawn face and furrowed brow let her feelings show through. She was just as terrified as Torsten.

"What kind of power does Leviathan have to have to pull of this?!" Torsten motioned to the disaster zone Lyon had become. The very street they stood in was scattered with dead bodies, some half-eaten by ravenous Ghouls, abandoned cars and massive chunks of stone and pavement left from what the pair could only assume was the explosive destruction of the Lafayette bridge.

Roux hesitated to reply. "Lancer, before she died, said that Leviathan may not be as almighty as he looks or purports to be. She would have seen him at least once, right? Maybe she's right and this is all smoke and mirrors."

"Lancer spoke before she died?" Torsten asked solemnly. He had assumed that the Valkyrie had fallen in battle and simply died a warriors death. To know she had her consciousness back before dying was strangely comforting.

Roux nodded, biting her lip to stop herself from crying. "I trust her words. She said we could defeat Leviathan. She said it. We can't give into fear now. If Lancer's right, even if the Hellmouth is a means to whatever foul end Leviathan desires, it's ultimately a show of strength to prevent us from challenging him in the first place."

"Or to put us off our game when we do..." Torsten finished Roux's thought for her.

To his surprise, she smiled and hugged him close. "We can do this. We don't have much choice – we _have _to do this."

"One last step, eh?" Torsten, against all odds, let out a chuckle. Roux let him go, readying her rapier. Torsten hefted his scythe.

"Mm-hm." Roux began a slow but proud walk towards the fracture Pont du Lafayette and the beastly tendril. "Let's end this."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Argh, I so late once again! I apologise to anyone disappointed by this. I got yet another job, this time a doozy, and it's destroyed my entire writing schedule.  
>Hopefully this little morsel will tide you ove however - I am in the process of writing the last two chapters (and a wee epilogue). The end is nigh, folks.<p>

I certainly hope you enjoyed this and you keep up with the story despite my schedule lapses... Tune in next time!


	44. La Fin du Monde : Part 4

Chapter 44  
>La Fin du Monde : Part 4<p>

Saviour had been right about at least one thing when he confronted Saber – the Scottish Servant was finding movement on his injured leg difficult. Running on it had been bad enough, but trying to move it with the preciseness required for battle was beyond painful. As Saber parried a blow from Saviour, letting his opponent's momentum carry him out of the range of immediate counter-attack, he took steps back to even further the distance between them.

With each step he took, a spear of agony fired up his right shin as the fractured bone compressed under his weight. Sweat began to form on his brow as the pain started to seep into his thought process. Cringing, he launched himself at Saviour once more. Saviour blocked the blow squarely, even if he had to place both hands on his sword's hilt to do so.

"Do you really think you have a chance against me?" Saviour asked, his face devoid of emotion. He leaned in closer – close enough to feel Saber's breath warm his face. "You're a dead man walking, a corpse with motion. You, your Master, his friend and that Templar filth will all die here."

With speed he was surprised he had, Saber tore a hand from his blade and grasped at Saviour's throat, digging his fingers in as hard as possible. As the fallen angel's eyes went wide and he let out a strained cough, Saber talked through gritted teeth. "Unlike most, rage will not dull my blade nor sap my strength. However, yer ramblings are not falling on deaf ears – if you want your death tae be a most excruciating experience, keep blathering you piece of shit."

Saviour's comeback came in the form of a punch to Saber's gut. Try as he might to simply endure the blow outright, his form buckled as his body naturally flinched. Knowing another attack would come, Saber threw Saviour's face away from his and backed off. Leaping out of range, Saber expected Saviour to follow through with a slash of his short sword. However, he instead found the fallen angel kneeling in place before him, the massive scars on his back where his wings presumably used to sprout from his back.

"You will regret your stubbornness in the end, Saber." Saviour spoke to the ground. As he made his threat, from the scars on his back, a black mana began to manifest itself. It pooled above the sickening looking gashes in long, cylinder-like shapes before he began to stand. Holding himself tall, the undulating shapes on his back unfolded into a pair of wings. Composed of pure mana, both wings flickered and wavered being unstable by nature. "For it will only make my tearing apart of you that much more painful."

Unimpressed, Saber inverted his blade in his hands and jammed it into the ground. "Enough! Árd Stirling Drochaid!" Just as with the battle with Assassin, the world began to melt away around the pair of Servants. In its place, an endless, ancient bridge formed the ground beneath their feet and spanned an endless river of dark, treacherous waters. Within the Reality Marble of Leviathan's Hellmouth, Saber had formed the Stirling Bridge over the River Forth. This time, however, the bridge was the width of its real-life counterpart – only wide enough for a few soldiers to stand across.

"And just how will this save you?" Saviour asked, pointing at Saber with his sword.

Saber debated explaining himself as he ripped his sword out the ground, electing to wield it in one hand from now on. Much to his chagrin, stalling for the sake of his still aching leg seemed prudent. "Donnae ye know? Stirling Bridge is the site of one of my many victories. Particularly decisive a victory, as it so happens. As such, this Reality Marble of mine can turn the tide of any fight." Saber could already feel the effects of his power; while still injured, his leg's pain had dulled considerably. Enough to fight back on even footing – footing even enough to win.

Saviour raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Something tells me this power is not absolute if you have not simply struck me down like I were nothing."

"Even a legend must earn their victories," Saber scoffed. He matched Saviour's pose, pointing his massive blade at the fallen angel, dwarfing his weapon. "And I will earn my victory on this night. For my Master, for Roux and for Lancer!"

Apparently sick of trading boasts and threats, Saviour's eyes narrowed. Then, without warning, he shot forward with a flap of his wings. As he flew at Saber, he spun around and curled his outstretched arm and blade back in close to his body like coiling a spring. With perfect timing, he uncoiled as he reached Saber, adding immense power behind his arm as he unleashed his short sword.

Saber blocked the attack just in time, Saviour's golden blade halted in its course for his face. He wasted no time. With his free hand, Saber lashed out at the fallen angel's sword arm and tried to wrench it to one side and forward. If he could get Saviour right to him, it would be little effort to cut him in two and swiftly end it then and there.

Saviour saw the attempt at pulling him in close and resisted, wrenching his arm free of Saber's grip and jumping back from his opponent with the help of a massive flap of his wings. So close to Saber was Saviour that as his mana wings snapped shut to propel him backwards, they grazed the Scottish Servant's outstretched arm. As they did so, Saber could feel his skin burn as the pure mana almost sliced and cauterised his arm clean off.

"So they arenae jes' for show!" Saber went on the offensive. He thrust at Saviour from far back, utilising the immense length of his blade. Saviour blocked it by enshrouding himself with one wing. As the tip of the sword bounced off it, Saviour batted it away with his other wing, leaving Saber wide open. _Shit!_

Saviour took full advantage of the situation he set up. Unfurling his wing from around him, he went in low. Before Saber could react, Saviour was upon him from below, rising up with his short sword. Taking barely a half-step back, Saber could feel Saviour's sword scrape up his breastplate before slashing right up his face, on the right side. Almost losing an eye, Saber stumbled back and made a wild swing at Saviour to force him back. However, Saviour would not relent, blocking the blow with a wing and moving in for another attack. The fallen angel aimed high, at Saber's neck, making a horizontal slice to decapitate him. Saber clumsily ducked back and under Saviour's sword, turning his manoeuvre into a backwards roll to escape his foe.

This time, Saviour stopped his onslaught. "No amount of tide turning can save you now, Saber."

Regaining his balance and rising to his feet, Saber decided against making a reply. Instead, he wiped off the blood that was dripping down his face before it became a nuisance and went on the attack. _Looks like I have tae finish this quick!_

* * *

><p>After having cut a swathe through the horde of Ghouls that chased him like a runaway blender blade, Chevalier was now on the run. He had come through the horde itself unscathed, but now all the Ghouls were after his blood, his gambit successful. Perhaps too successful now that he had hundreds of cannibalistic monsters baying for his blood and on his tail.<p>

He ran away from the epicentre the Hellmouth, away from Saber, Torsten and Roux, hoping that he could at least keep this group of Ghouls away from any of them. However, even with the rumble of running Ghouls behind him, the priest was more worried about Torsten and Roux than himself. Chevalier had earnestly hoped to have been there with them at the end, but it was not to be. As much as they may have needed his help in the fight against Leviathan, they wouldn't have been able to survive a fight with that many Ghouls. There numbers and ferociousness were just too great.

Faced with certain death at the hands of Ghouls or the unknown of Leviathan himself, Chevalier had to send the Masters off against the gatekeeper of the Hellmouth alone. As he stole a quick glance at the ravenous horde over his shoulder, he hoped he had made the right decision. However, as he reset his gaze to the streets before him, he noticed a lone Ghouls ambling down the upcoming block.

For a split second, their eyes locked. Chevalier knew what was coming before it happened. The Ghoul, its bloodshot and empty eyes going wide, let out an almighty shriek. Then, all hell broke loose. Answering their brethren's call, wave upon wave of Ghouls began to pour from the buildings ahead of Chevalier and surrounding the lone Ghoul, turning into a second horde that began to charge straight at him.

"_Shit_."

It was now a race to the next intersection. If the horde before him got there first, Chevalier was almost certainly doomed. If, however, Chevalier got there first, he could perhaps keep running. He tried to speed up, pumping his legs hard enough that he thought his muscles may burst from the strain. The hordes behind him and in front of him did the same, some reverting to running on all-fours like the animals they had become in response to both the Ghoul's cry and Chevalier attempts to get away.

Chevalier was metres away from the intersection when he realised there was no outrunning them now. The Ghouls before him were almost about to enter the intersection and the Ghouls behind him were so close that attempting a turn would probably allow them to lunge and catch him.

There was no choice left but to fight.

As he set foot into the intersection, he stopped. For him, as he held still on the spot, so did time. Throughout the War, he had only tapped into what he liked to call his 'bloody' persona to small degrees – he had never let it take over. Now, however, he did not have that luxury. It was do or die, and he could not afford to die here.

The persona itself was dangerous, but it needed to be. After years of brutal training for the Templars, learning how to massacre legions of men or monsters by himself in the name of God, he had come to realise that he had turned into as horrific a monster as he was made to hunt. Instead of falling into dismay, losing his faith or succumbing to this dark side he had developed, he instead split himself in two internally. His mind was now two halves – the normal Guillaume Chevalier that was a man of the cloth first, fighter of beasts second and the other half, the wolf in sheep's clothing, whose only purpose was to kill and to do so as efficiently as possible. For years, Chevalier had evaded use of his 'slayer' side, having been somewhat of an ambassador between the church and the world of magi and magecraft.

"It seems that I can't escape who I am inside," he murmured to himself as both hordes closed in on him.

With that, he flipped an internal switch. In seconds, his emotions bled away. Worry for Torsten and Roux disappeared, fear for his life vanished and all was replaced with one goal – the execution of all unnatural beings that surrounded him. His lips spread into a sick smile as he lost himself. "This will be most fun."

* * *

><p>As Torsten and Roux reached the obliterated bridge and the base of enormous black tentacle that had done the deed, both of them could truly appreciate just how huge it was. It towered above them, swaying as it stood tall in the air. It was clearly made of burnt and pockmarked flesh, providing more evidence to the theory it was in fact some kind of monstrous tongue. Looking down into the river below, the hole from which it emerged certainly looked like some form of hellish gullet.<p>

Now that the two Masters had reached the tendril, however, they struck an impasse that Torsten verbalised. "Now what?" Looking at the column of flesh would not destroy it, but he was at a loss as to how it could be done in the first place.

"Räumlich Einsturz should do the trick, don't you think?" Roux proposed, shooting him a sideways glance.

Torsten almost fell over. "Use Räumlich Einsturz on that?! I don't think I can make a field big enough." He raised his right arm anyway, aiming his open palm at the tentacle. "But, it doesn't hurt to try."

Activating the crest on his arm, Torsten clamped his hand shut into a fist. The expected collapse of space around, or at least within, the tentacle never came. Nothing happened. He looked at Roux, who only kept her eyes on the black column before them. He tried again and again, to no avail. As Torsten made to try once more, Roux grabbed his hand and pulled it down, shaking her head. "It looks like it won't be that simple."

"You're more naïve than I thought to think that could work, girl." A voice echoed around the pair. It was clearly Leviathan's, but his exact position was unclear. "Or perhaps you're just desperate?"

"Show yourself!" Torsten cried, looking around himself. The last thing they needed now was to be ambushed.

"As you wish." As soon as Leviathan stopped talking, the tentacle quivered. Then, a hand burst out from within it, just across from the two Masters. Both watched in horror as a human figure dragged itself out from inside the Hellmouth tongue, tearing apart the charred black flesh of the tentacle as it dug its way to freedom. Soon, the figure's top half was free, revealing Leviathan's face and torso. However, he did not stop there. What seemed to be a kick of his legs from within the tower of flesh, he fired himself out of it.

Bracing themselves for anything, Torsten and Roux watched as he flew through the air and landed on the ruined bridge before them with a deceptively quiet thud. He looked like he had appeared to them earlier, only this time he had legs, over which he wore the pair of black pants from Chevalier's stolen clothes, in addition to the priests black shoes. Otherwise, a bedraggled mop of black hair contrasted his sickly pale skin and framed his thin, inhuman features.

To their surprise, he did not simply unleash himself upon them. Instead, he took his time, stretching and straightening his back as he stood tall. Before speaking, he heaved a deep sigh as if he was relaxed for the first time in an age.

"So," he began, his eyes closed. "You actually made it to the very throat of the Hellmouth." With his eyes closed, Leviathan did not notice Roux's brow furrow as her harrowing theory was confirmed. "What of your Servant? The Templar priest? Are you two alone at the very end? How very sad. I can assure you, this _is_ the end."

"I would think Leviathan himself is above petty boasts." Torsten spoke as clearly as his fear wracked brained would allow him too. Roux shot him a worried look, which he assuaged with a small shake of his head.

It was then that Leviathan opened his narrow eyes, looking at the two Masters how a stalking lion would observe a defenceless gazelle. "You didn't answer my questions, but you do have a point."

"We're not here talk, monster," Roux threatened. Her voice wavered, just as Torsten's did, but her eyes were cold as they looked upon Leviathan. "We're here to put a stop to this – to you!"

"Do I hear a hypocritical boast escaping your lips? How unbecoming." Leviathan's words were razor sharp. He stared Roux down, trying to catch her between her slip of the tongue and his imposing presence.

Torsten fought to change the subject. Stalling at this point was out of pure fear, but perhaps there was a possibility of dislodging the monster before them with words. "Why are you doing this? What purpose does this all serve?"

Leviathan's gaze switched from Roux to Torsten. He began to softly laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"You both understand so little. If I didn't have a penchant for destroying one's soul before their body, I think I'd leave you to your ignorance. However, you two, of all Masters in this War, would find what I know enlightening." He raised a thin hand and pointed at Torsten. "Especially you, son of Richter Amsel."

Roux's eyes went wide. "What did you just say?"

As he heard his father's name pass over Leviathan's lips, a chill shot up his spine and his entire body stiffened. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He didn't know what to say. Was Leviathan watching him this entire time? Were all five of them being watched over the course of the War? Or was it something more menacing?

Leviathan's laughter became a harsh cackle. "Torsten is your name, correct? Yes, I knew your father. Well, I knew _of_ him. I was in fact much better acquainted with one Xavier Roux. He's the reason I'm here, after all." His laughter grew louder as he saw Roux's face change from shock to horror. However, Leviathan's mood suddenly shifted to a deadly seriousness. "I think that's enough talk for now. You said you're here to stop me? So, stop me."

He lowered his stance and spread out his arms, ready to catch anything thrown his way. Roux and Torsten stood dumbstruck for a few seconds, both unsettled by his words. Their stupor was interrupted by Leviathan's voice once again.

"If you are both that lost, shall I go first then?" With no warning but his words, Leviathan dove forward. Neither Master was ready for the onslaught, Torsten shakily raising his scythe before him in a vain attempt to block the strike he knew would come. Roux did the same with her rapier, forgetting what she had been taught and simply trying to put something in between her and Leviathan.

His blows came hard and swift. In a dizzying display of agility, he came between both Masters. Neither of them could react. Synchronising his fists, he slugged both Masters hard in the gut, the force behind his fist was such that it lifted both of them off the ground. Roux and Torsten flew a few metres each before slamming hard into the road they were just standing on.

Roux was the first to reach her feet, somehow managing to flip herself up quickly despite the jarring pain in her stomach. Her vision was blurred, but she could see the figure of Leviathan standing where Torsten and she had been. For whatever inane reason, he was not continuing his assault. Just as Roux glanced to check on Torsten, he sprang up from the ground. As soon as he reached his feet, Torsten found himself barely able to breathe. He desperately sucked in air, shakily holding out his scythe before his body, trying to re-inflate his lungs.

However, only the thought that Leviathan knew who his father was stuck in his brain. As he kept gulping down mouthfuls of oxygen, he suddenly realised that this may be the final answer to why Richter Amsel, his father, had made him promise to join in the War in his stead. He glanced at Roux and gave her a reassuring nod – he was still ready to fight.

"Still able to stand, even after all you've been through." Leviathan began to clap his hands. The condescension he released into the air with each word was thick enough to cut with a knife. "What tenacity. It's that tenacity that makes me feel bad for having to kill you both – and this entire city. It's possibly humanity's most admirable trait, even if it does make you far more stubborn than is necessary."

"And I thought you said it we had had enough talk." Roux fought back in words where she knew her and Torsten's strength failed them. Leviathan was, as far as they knew, unscathed throughout the entire War. Both Masters were tired – tired of fighting, tired of killing, tired of the War. Left without a choice, however, they persevered.

Leviathan let out a single, exaggerated laugh. "You see! It's that kind of viciousness in the face of absolute defeat that makes you all so charming." His snake-eyes shifted from Roux to Torsten. He could sense the young Master's fear emanate from his every action - the slight quaking of the legs, the white-knuckled grip on his scythe, a pair of confused and darting eyes. "Your father had a certain tenacious streak, if I remember correctly."

Leviathan's words found their mark. "How do you know my father?"

"Torsten..." Roux side-eyed her partner as he betrayed himself.

Leviathan's dead eyes gleamed. "Why, it's rather simple really. Richter Amsel and Xavier Roux are the very reason why I stand before you today. You see, in the bowels of a nightmarish Einzbern castle, I was created as an experiment and subsequently sealed away when they found me to be... too powerful. Your fathers are the ones that found me and set me free." He let his words sink in for a moment. Both Masters were shell-shocked at what they heard, staring at their foe wide-eyed and scared of what he would say next – the perfect impetus for Leviathan to continue. "They sought me out in order to jump-start one last Holy Grail War. While it seemed to them when they found me that I was nothing but a featureless shell of a homunculus, they were very wrong. I could hear everything they said in my presence. And trust me when I say, I heard many interesting things."

Torsten was entranced now. If his father had found Leviathan along with Roux's, then maybe he knew why Torsten was in this War in his father's place; why his father had died. Against his better judgement, and the glare of Roux, he asked the monster before him the question. "Do you know what happened to my father?"

Leviathan chuckled. "Perhaps." He lowered himself in place, preparing to charge and exchanging his snideness for coldness. "If I do, what makes you think I'll tell you?"

* * *

><p>Saber's battle was an uphill struggle of monumental proportions. However, he knew it was less his fault than it was simple logic. Saviour was fresh and fit for battle, no doubt taking a back-seat to any combat. Saber, however, had seen enough bloodshed in the War that it was almost impossible for some of that blood not to be his.<p>

As he stood face to face with Saviour, their blades entwined together, Saber could feel his body failing. All over his body, the Servant ached, his leg still proving to be a problem – sharp pain shot up it every time he moved it. His throat was dry, his eyes burned and his head pounded. He had just barely held his ground with the fallen angel, however, despite the struggle it was to fight back.

Even so, as he locked eyes with Saviour, Saber knew that the fallen angel had been controlling the ebb and flow of the battle from the start. If that didn't change and change fast, victory was but a pipe-dream.

Saviour snarled at him, breaking him out of his reflection. "No matter how valiant your efforts may be, you know you can't win. You know and yet you persist like a mad fool." Saber offered nothing but a grimace in return. Saviour went in for the verbal kill. "Your Master doesn't stand a chance, you know."

"Is all you say utter bollocks?" Saber asked bluntly through gritted teeth. His eyes aimed to burn a hole through his enemy's head. Saviour realised his mistake in taunting Saber too late and was caught off guard by the Scottish Servant's massive open hand swinging around their joined blades and grabbing him by the throat. Saber's grip was like a titanium vice. "I know your game, ye monster. Ye can't match my blade unless you batter me with verbal bile. Well, I'm nae falling for it. Ye picked the last Servant to try and treat like dirt." His grip tightened further, Saviour gasping for a breath. "I'll see tae it that you pay for what ye've done!"

Before he became at risk of blacking out, Saviour tried to snap shut his wings on Saber and cut his arm clean off. The Scottish Servant saw through the manoeuvre before it even started, withdrawing his hand in time to avoid even being touched and dislodging himself entirely from Saviour.

As Saber shuffle back, making some much needed ground between himself and the angelic Servant, Saviour's wings burst open as swiftly as they had closed. They revealed his was face contorted in rage and he held a hand around a thoroughly bruised throat. Opening his mouth, he spoke with a slight rasp. "How dare you... How dare you!"

"Prove you are more than mere words, monster." Saber readied his blade. "Prove it, and perhaps I wonnae make your death a gruesome one."

Unable to endure what he had subjected Saber to, Saviour unleashed himself upon the Servant. Flapping his wings, he gave himself an incredibly boost of speed and force, lashing out at Saber. Saviour found his blow not blocked, but deflected downwards right into the ground. As the tip of his sword buried itself in the surface of the Stirling Bridge, Saviour found himself wide open – and Saber's blade screaming at his face!

Saviour craned his neck to the side as Saber's blade tore past him. The Scottish Servant twisted his arm as he thrust, allowing the sword to just nick Saviour on the cheek, nearly piercing his eye. The angelic Servant batted Saber's sword away with one of his wings, the latter backing away once more as Saviour ripped his sword free from the bridge's cobblestones.

Once again, Saber waited for Saviour to strike first. He looked at small splash of blood on the ground and the streak of crimson down his own blade. _Gotcha'_.

Saviour looked to his enemy, meeting his smug grin with a twisted scowl. He let loose a massive flap of his wings, stirring up a gale of winds. Saber was unperturbed. "You were right, Saber. Words in this case are cheap. Prepare to die alone and helpless." Saber's grin only grew wider. Before Saviour could ask what was so funny, he was interrupted.

"Oh, I'm not alone."

It was then that Saviour noticed the shimmering in the air behind Saber as hundreds upon hundreds of medieval soldiers formed and became real. Outfitted in pikes and swords, they stood behind Saber as an army would behind its general, ready to wage war on command. Each wore a shambles of armour, pieced together with what looked like whatever each individual soldier could find in a rush. However, all of them had eyes that burned with a battle fervour that demanded to be satisfied.

Saber smirked. "How does it feel tae have the tide turn on ye?"

* * *

><p>Torsten went on the offensive, Roux following suit if only to make sure he didn't get himself killed. There was no time to talk him out of his stupidity now, Roux had quickly decided. IF anything, it was best if he threw himself into the fray and cast away his fears. She only worried, as she watched Leviathan dodge and avoid Torsten's blows, that both of them were in far over their heads.<p>

"I'd say I didn't know you had it in you," Leviathan said, sliding to one side as Torsten brought down his scythe to cleave the vessel of the Grail in two. "But, that would be a lie."

He made a grab for the scythe, clutching onto its wooden shaft and held it firmly in place. "You've always been the weakest link in this War, yet come through weathered but alive."

Leviathan shot out his open free hand for Torsten's face. The young Master ducked under the attack, still keeping his grip on his weapon as Leviathan continued. "All for a promise you don't even understand."

Roux leapt into the fray from one side, landing a kick in the small of Leviathan's back while he was distracted. Seemingly unfazed Leviathan released Torsten's scythe and spun around with a closed fist held high. Roux bent back and under the haymaker before letting loose a kick to Leviathan's chest. Again, the vessel of the Grail didn't even go so far as to shrug it off. He turned to Torsten as he stepping back to a safer range. "And that's just tragic."

In the blink of an eye, Leviathan shot forward, swinging his entire arm at Torsten. Instinctively, Torsten block with his scythe. To his shock, a spine-tingling metallic crash exploded from where Leviathan's arm and his own scythe met. Sparks flew, and both Roux and Torsten saw the source. Leviathan's arm had morphed into a grotesque looking blade. It looked almost organic, as if made from chitin or reptile scales. However, its edge was clearly defined and tapered to a sharp point at the end.

Without warning, swinging his other arm, Leviathan morphed it as well. It was head straight at Torsten's head before being battered to one side. Torsten looked to see Roux, wielding her rapier and taking the chance to try and run Leviathan through. Her thrust was blindingly fast, finally eliciting something akin to shock from Leviathan who backed off from both Masters just as Roux's rapier point threatened to pierce his heart.

"Lancer was right, Torsten," Roux yelled, a grim smile on her face as she motioned to Leviathan. "All isn't as it seems with this monster! What kind of harbinger of the apocalypse must shy away from my sword?" She met eyes with Leviathan, whose arms were still like blades and face was as hard as stone. "A fraud who we can defeat."

"...And force the truth out of." Torsten prepared himself to fight once again. This time, he stood tall.

Leviathan's arms began to revert back to their normal state as he began to talk, his voice low and, somehow, different. "A fraud? For avoiding your sword? Let me explain something, girl."

He took decidedly slow steps away from Torsten and towards Roux. "I am Leviathan."

Roux's bravado faltered, and she found herself backing away in time with Leviathan's approach. "Guardian of the Hellmouth."

Torsten ran to her aide, attempting to slice Leviathan in two at the waist only to feel the vice like grip of a hand wrap around his neck and begin to choke the life out of him. Roux screamed. "Torsten, no!"

Never taking his eyes away from Roux, his fingers tightened around Tosten's neck, threatening to break it. "Ruler of the Seas."

Roux leapt into action, leaping forward. She violently stopped short as Leviathan unleashed a kick straight into her gut. Gasping for air, Roux's sword fell from her hand as she fell to her knees. Looking up at Torsten, she could see the panic in his eyes. He too had dropped his weapon and frantically clawed at Leviathan's hand to release himself. Eyes darting from the monster that held him and Roux, he desperately gulped in air only for it to go nowhere.

Leviathan cocked his head. "...And I have nothing but hatred for all things."

Roux could see it start to happen in slow motion – Leviathan was about to clench the hand around Torsten's neck just enough to break it. Still short of breath herself, Roux did not stop to think. Pure instinct took over. Sweeping her hand across the ground as she rose to her feet, she found and grasped her rapier. In one motion, she wrenched it upwards with a mighty scream and plunged it into Leviathan's chest.

For a second, everything stopped. Roux stood with her rapier piercing straight through the centre of Leviathan's chest, missing his heart by centimetres. Torsten still hung in his grasp, but his gaze was locked on Roux's figure, struggling with each breath. Looking back to Leviathan, he saw his eyes wide in shock, but he only paid his attention to Roux. Her rapier, which he could see stick straight out of Leviathan's back, was coated not in red but black.

With his last ounce of strength, Torsten project a basic knife and plunged it into Leviathan's arm. To his surprise, Leviathan released his grip immediately and backed away, tearing Roux rapier out of his chest with his other hand.

His throat raw, heart pounding, Torsten scrambled away with his scythe to Roux's side. "I get it now... I get it." His voiced was ragged, but he had to speak. "He's just like Cecile's Servant, Faust! His heart... His heart is the weakness."

"He's just a possessed puppet," Roux continued, helping Torsten to his feet. "Just like Faust, it's like some sick contract with a demon, only Leviathan was designed this way from the start, I would wager, by the Einzberns. Isn't that right?"

"Silence!" Leviathan bellowed, a lick of flame burst from his mouth. The sudden burst of heat he created spread over both Masters.

"For all the power you have been gifted, you're nothing but a flawed experiment!" Roux's taunts were unrelenting. The truth of Leviathan had to be uncovered before him – maybe it would break him enough for them to destroy him once and for all. "And that is why this War was utter chaos – An Australian brigand from well after the era of heros? A clone of the Master, the personification of greed itself? Aberrations that can only be due to the foul meddling of a flawed Grail vessel."

Leviathan could not speak. So ingrained in his mind that he was the true embodiment of Leviathan yet so irrefutable were Roux's claims that his constructed psyche almost shattered. However, a glimmer of the pathological belief in his own existence remained, allowing him to concentrate on at least one last task; murdering the two that threatened him.

"_Burn!_" Suddenly, Leviathan drew in a huge breath before releasing a massive wave of flame at both Masters. Splitting up, Torsten went right and Roux went left as a wall of fire engulfed where they had just stood. Despite avoiding the flames themselves, the searing heat that emanated off of them was terrifying; there was no escape if they were fool enough to get caught by even a lick of breath.

With Torsten and Roux now split up, Leviathan made his move. As he had unleashed his flames upon both Masters, he had decided who would be the first to die. As the last of the fire died out, still obscured from either Magus' view, Leviathan took off in a run to the right. It was but a few swift steps before he was upon Torsten, ripping the scythe from his hands and throwing it at Roux. Barely prepared to defend herself, Roux stumbled to one side. However, the unsharpened outer rim of the blade made contact with her shoulder. She fell to the ground as the weight of the scythe dragged her down while it toppled over her. The scythe had cut her deep, blood pouring down her side, but it would have sliced her clean in half had the sharp of the blade caught her.

Leviathan picked Torsten up by his collar, the young Master struggling in vain to fight against his monstrous strength. "I _am_ Leviathan. I am. I'll make _you_ believe it." He looked at Torsten, but his words were meant for Roux. As he spoke, a ring of flames encircled Leviathan and Torsten, spreading outwards. As they reached Roux, she was forced to scramble away on her hands and knees, dragging the scythe with her, lest she succumb to the scorching heat. "When I return with his corpse, you'll will believe it!"

"No! Torsten!" Roux screamed over the crackling of the flames that walled her off from her friend and her enemy. The flames grew ever taller, slowing obscuring her view of both of them. Whatever was happening, Leviathan and Torsten were going to leave her behind. Acting on instinct, she dragged herself to her feet, taking the scythe with her. With a yell, she threw Torsten's weapons into the flames. To her relief, it shot straight through and she heard the clatter as it hit the ground.

The flames finally rose so high Roux could not even see either of them anymore. It was then that flames suddenly went white hot, blinding Roux, and super-heating the ring around which they sprouted enough to make the stone fracture. As the flash of light subsided, Roux regained her sight to see that the entire area inside the flames – and the flames themselves – were gone. In their place was nothing but a hole in the bridge. No Torsten, no Leviathan.

She looked around desperately, hoping that they had simply warped somewhere nearby, but found nothing but the towering black tendril that still stood high above the river it sprouted from. In desperation, she called out. "Torsten? Torsten!"

Receiving nothing in reply, Roux sank to her knees, exhausted and unable to hold her own weight up any more. She noticed her hands were shaking and, try as she might, she couldn't make them stop. "You'd better come back alive..."

* * *

><p>Saber's loyal troops began to advance from behind him, splitting into two groups as they encircled both Servants. While their numbers were not enormous, nor were they an infinite resource like Assassin's familiars were, in the bottle neck of Stirling Bridge and under the effects of its power, they were a formidable force.<p>

Saviour bored holes through Saber through the army that had encircled him. Normally, as an Angel, he could simply fly above the familiars and lunge straight at Saber, ending the fight in one decisive blow. However, Saviour's true wings had been torn away and despite the offensive power of his wings of mana, they provide no capability of flight. There was no escape from the army of Scotland; he was trapped.

"I had a feeling ye couldnae fly." Saber kept his distance, making no effort to join the frontline just yet. Summoning his army was a last resort. A dire lack of mana was slowing his healing factor and he was not going to make some miraculous personal comeback; he had to wear Saviour down with his soldiers then go in for the kill.

With no visible cue from Saber, his army sprang into action. The first wave of some ten men leapt at Saviour, weapons drawn and releasing ear-rending battle-cries. Saviour wasted no time dispatching one of them, lashing out with his blade quicker than the familiar could even perceive and slicing the top of its head clean off. A gout of blood burst from the fallen soldier as he fell, staining the bridge and surrounding men with red - a thin slick of the liquid splattered even Saviour, covering his arm, chest and face. Caring not for the gore he had created, Saviour swung on the spot to eviscerate another familiar.

_CLANG_.

Saviour's blade was blocked firmly by the long-sword of a familiar. For a split second, the fallen angel froze in shock, his self-assuredness shaken as he locked eyes with the hairy and furious soldier before him. A swift blur appeared in Saviour's peripheral vision, snapping him out of his surprise. It was the pike of another familiar who was keeping his distance, the tip of the long weapon barrelling straight for Saviour's face. With blades still locked tight with the second familiar, Saviour snapped his wings shut around him. As they closed, they slammed into other attackers and the pike. Instead of batting them anyway, everything they touched was disintegrated. The pike became a fine dust and the familiars exploded into mists of blood. Where the wings did not entirely engulf the familiars, it would what it did touch clean off, leaving the half-remains to fall where they stood.

The familiar that was once matching blades with Saviour was nothing but a thin red haze that lingered far too long in the air for comfort of anyone present. The few remaining familiars that had not been obliterated, which numbered only three, hesitated in their assault.

Saviour jumped on the opportunity. His wings erupted open, revealing the fallen angel to be coated in blood. With haste, he directed himself towards the nearest of the last three soldiers and bisected him at the waist with his sword. With no pause he grabbed another by the face and slammed him into the ground hard enough to shatter his skull. The remaining soldier stood frozen and open to Saviour simply skewering him through the face.

Even as a warrior who had seen and committed most brutal acts before even becoming a Servant, Saber could feel his stomach churn as he saw his opponent drenched in his own warrior's blood. If it wasn't already obvious before, it was terrifyingly clear now – any sense of mercy or goodness was gone from the fallen angel. "Ye've become nothin' but a beast, Saviour. Even your 'class' tastes foul to utter."

Saviour was undisturbed. "Are you coming to take my head, or what?" Opening his wings wide, the ring of men around him spread out, knowing just what would happen if they were to touch them.

Grimacing, Saber nodded to his army. Reacting immediately, they all went on the offensive. The Scottish Servant had a theory about Saviour's wings. Testing this theory would require the sacrifice of some of his men, more than likely. As such, he had to join the fray himself. As the first wave of his men met Saviour, meeting their ends swiftly through either blade or wing, Saber catapulted himself into the melee.

Saviour finished dissecting one soldier, his back to Saber. Sensing the presence behind him, Saviour turned, blade first. As it met Saber's massive sword and Saviour's eyes met his, shock washed over his face.

One of the soldiers took advantage of Saviour's hesitation, thrusting with his pike from out of the fallen angel's range. Saviour dodged before it could impale his head, but it was too late. The pike's sharp head sliced into his sword arm as he dislodged himself from Saber.

Saviour was given no time to recover. Another soldier, this one armed with a long sword comparable to Saber's launched an attack, coming between his General and Saviour. Normally, Saber would have not allowed this if only for the sake of honour. However, as much as his army had bought him time to stand to one side, Saber was still hanging onto his ability to continue the fight with an ever straining thread. Any opportunity to back off for a few seconds was needed if he was going to take Saviour down. If that meant confirming his theory about Saviour's powers at the same time, all the better.

Saviour deflected the soldier's blade easily and gutted him, open his left wing at the same to take care of foolish swordsman that thought he could sneak up on the fallen angel. Saber filled the place of his fallen comrade, swinging at Saviour's neck. His attack was ducked, but Saber was ready for this. He immediately let out a steel-booted kick straight to Saviour's jaw, the force of Saber's foot going up and Saviour's chin going down adding to the pain behind it.

Saviour toppled onto his back, his wings spreading out over the ground. As they did so, they sliced off the feet of some men that stood too close. Saber couldn't let the opportunity go to waste and held his sword high above his head, ready to bring it down on Saviour in a decisive blow.

"I don't think so."

Saviour rolled over where he lay, one wing rising up into the air with him. As Saber brought his sword down, Saviour's wing batted it to one side. With most of Saviour's body enshrouded by his own wing, Saber motioned to his men to strike now. _This needs tae work!_

Doing as command, a few soldiers stepped forward and attempted to breach Saviour's wing with their weapons. Each weapon that connected with it disintegrated, leaving the assault pointless. However, Saber did not think so. He could see what happened every time the wings touched something; they would waver and become unstable, the effect having gotten worse since the first time they killed his men. _He's runnin' out o' mana. His wings are finite!_

He had to test this himself. Saber took an enormous swing at Saviour's wing, knowing that his weapon would not be destroyed so easily. As the wing endured Saber's blow, sparks flew from where the two met. They were of the same colour of the wing and as Saber held his sword firm against the wing, the sparks, which were seemed to be errant pieces of mana, kept flying off.

Saviour, realising what Saber was trying to do, unfurled his wing with enough force to blast Saber away and onto the ground. The Scottish Servant his the rough stone of the bridge hard, feeling the strain of all the battles he had been through thus far as extra weight trying to keep him affixed to the ground. He could see Saviour lift himself up easily, dispatching soldiers that tried to defend their commander. However, they could not stop his advance and he walked closer and closer to Saber.

Saber's limbs felt like lead weights, his sword uselessly hanging in his hand as he tried to lift his arms. His legs had stiffened the moment he didn't have to place any weight on them when he had hit the ground. His head pounded, his heart raced and his mana was running so low it was a wonder he was still functioning. It was the end for one of them, and he had to make sure it wasn't him.

As Saviour brushed aside each soldier that attacked him, he finally got within range of Saber. He did not hesitate. With one thrust, he skewered Saber through the stomach, nailing him to the surface of Stirling Bridge.

"Raargh!" Saber roared as Saviour twisted the blade in his gut, using his wings to fend off Saber's troops.

Saber broke out into a sweat as the pain threatened to overwhelm his sense. However, he had one option left to him. "Attack!" he spluttered, blood mixing with his words. "Now!"

As one, his men launched themselves at Saviour from behind. Some were knocked right into his wings, disintegrating. Some lashed at them with their weapons only to lose them. One or two actually hit the flesh around Saviour's wings, but were quickly targeted and annihilated.

Even as Saber lay on the brink of death, he could see his plan working. The mana holding Saviour's wings together was running so thin that they were becoming transparent and beginning to flicker in-and-out of visibility altogether.

"It's too late for you, Saber. You die, now!" Saviour's taunt was matched with a sneer as he tore his sword from Saber's stomach. Saviour raised his sword level with Saber's face, the soldiers behind him still desperately trying to breach his ever fading wings.

That's precisely when they finally vanished.

All at once, the soldiers already in mid-attack hit their mark on Saviour's back. Most wounds were light, glancing blows. However, more than one sword pierced his back and shot through the fallen angel's chest. Saviour froze in pain and shock, his eyes threatening to pop out of his head.

Relying on what little strength he had left, Saber dragged his sword arm up and swung it. It found its mark in Saviour's own sword arm. Slicing it apart in the middle of the forearm, Saviour stumbled backwards, still acting as a fleshy sheathe to some four swords. The soldiers backed off and Saber achingly raised himself to his feet while Saviour fell to his knees.

"No." Saber raised his sword high in one hand. Saviour cradled his stump of an arm and looked up to see the fury burning in his killer's eyes. "It's too late for _you_."

Saber dropped his blade. It came down hard on Saviour's shoulder, cleaving right down into his chest and fracturing all but two ribs on one side of his torso. As he threatened to fall open, the bridge below him went black, a circle of darkness surrounding Saviour. Saber placed a boot against Saviour's chest and leveraged his blade free, letting Saviour to fall into the blackness and begin to sink, his eyes blank and mouth agape in terror. In seconds, he was gone.

"Thank Christ..." Saber slumped to his knees, sticking his blade in the ground to hold himself up. He watched as the bridge below him dissolved, his soldiers vanished and he was left in the lonely and deserted streets of Lyon once more.

His first instinct, to stand and make for his Master, was thwarted by his weakened body. He was dangerously low on mana - so low it was a wonder he didn't fade away. No part of him was without pain. However, he couldn't help but grin. _Maybe the lad's foolish Command Seal actually worked. But... I think he's on his own for now. I'm sorry, but, you'll do fine. You'll win._

Saber slowly faded on the spot, leaving the street truly empty.

* * *

><p>As Torsten was thrown to the ground, before he felt the pain, he felt the baking heat surrounding him. From all sides, oppressive heat blasted at him as if he was in the middle of some hellish furnace. As he regained his senses and looked around him, he found that he was not so far off from the truth. The walls of flames that had grown around himself and Leviathan had become a completely enclosed cage, encircling and trapping the pair of them. Above him and around him, Torsten was surrounded by vicious flames.<p>

"Welcome to Hell, Torsten Amsel." Torsten's attention was immediately drawn to Leviathan, the source of the deathly voice that had just made itself known. He stood where he had when he had picked Torsten up, however, he now looked decidedly deranged with wild, staring eyes and an inhumanly large grin filled with pointed teeth. Both his arms had morphed into the blades he had shown earlier, leaving him half-man, half-beast. "Do you believe me now when I say that I am the true Leviathan, Guardian and Gatekeeper of the Hellmouth?"

Torsten dragged himself to his feet, looking around for the scythe that Roux had thrown in for him. It was a few metres to the left of him, just put of arms reach and slightly charred, but in one piece. Leviathan's insane gaze darted between the young Master and his weapon, just waiting for him to make a move. Torsten clenched his fists in frustration, knowing he would be struck down in an instant if he even reached out.

"So," he began, try to stall and distract at the same time. "It was you that made the Servants what they were." Torsten had to force himself not to ask about his father. He couldn't, not right away. There's was little hope Leviathan would do much but toy with him. Instead, Torsten decided he had to toy with Leviathan first.

"Whatever do you mean?" Leviathan seemed to enjoy Torsten's bait. The young Master could tell that the monster before him wanted – needed – to prove his own supremacy or face going complete mad.

"Archer should not have been summoned as Ned Kelly – how does an outlaw, from a country far too young to have ever produced a proper Heroic Spirit, manage to be summoned? How can Assassin be summoned not as Hashashin, but as a clone of its own Master?" Torsten could see Leviathan's smile widen as he spoke, relishing in the madness he had wrought. "How does the vessel of the Grail, a non-combatant homunculus summoning a servant not of any of the normal classes in addition to all the other present Servants? And, finally, why have you not produced the Grail?"

"Would it disappoint you if I said that at least half of what you have said was not even deliberate?" Leviathan laughed, seemingly playing his own games. However, he did not let his gaze stray from Torsten any longer, pinning him down with the threat of death at any movement. He took a single, imposing step forward. "Archer and Assassin? Aberrations borne of my mana diluting the Grail's. My own Saviour, however, was a very deliberate choice. Alas, he has given his life for me as of a few minutes ago, but it seems he wasn't altogether unsuccessful."

"What?" Torsten concentrated hard, trying to sense his link with Saber. He could feel nothing. "No..."

"But of course, you had one remaining doubt about the Grail itself, yes?" Leviathan's voice cut a swathe through Torsten's fear stricken brain – just as planned. "I am funnelling all mana distributed to me by the felling of Servants to the Hellmouth. If I didn't, even I would be overwhelmed. So, you see, the Hellmouth is the Grail." Leviathan spread his bladed arms, preparing to charge. "And I am its master."

"...not dead." Torsten mumbled, looking away from Leviathan.

"What was that?"

"Saber's not dead. I ordered him to come back alive. Saber can't be dead!" Torsten began in a mumble once more but ended in a scream, projecting a scythe and forsaking the one on the ground for now.

"Even if he is alive," Leviathan cried, lunging forward, arms flailing. "There is nothing he can do for you now!"

Torsten stood his ground as Leviathan met him. A bladed arm swung in from the left side first. Blocking it with the blade of his projection, he prepared to meet the attack from the right. It came in high, aiming for the head. Torsten reached out and grabbed Leviathan's arm from higher than the blade had formed from his flesh. It wasn't enough to stop it slicing into his temple, but he stopped it from cutting his head in-half entirely.

Blood poured from the gash above Torsten's right eye, forcing him to close it as Leviathan reared his left arm back, off the scythe, and aimed for Torsten's chest. Leviathan locked eyes with the young Master he intended to kill. "There is nothing anyone can do for you now." His voice was cold, devoid of pleasure, hate or any emotion at all and sent a chill up Torsten's spine.

Leviathan was quick to follow his threat with an attack to back it up. He fired his arm forward like it was a bullet from a gun, hoping to end everything in one blow. Torsten abandoned his projected scythe, letting is dissolve as he projected a small knife better suited for extreme close-quarters. As the knife begun to form, he slammed it against the inside of Leviathan's bladed arm, making its aim go wide and miss Torsten altogether. Now he found himself struggling against the strength behind both of Leviathan's arms and slowly failing.

"I wonder," Leviathan began, barely a hint of strain in his voice. He was toying with Torsten, and Torsten knew it all too well. "Why is it you haven't asked about your father? Isn't that why you so brazenly attacked me in the first place?"

"I'm not..." Torsten managed to form words between exasperated grunts. "Playing your games..." He could feel his feet lose traction as the taller Leviathan increased the power behind his arms.

Leviathan let loose a kick out of nowhere. His knee slammed hard into Torsten's stomach. "Argh..." Torsten's legs buckled from under him as the wave of pain flared out across his body. It was quickly followed by nausea as his disturbed stomach refused to hold onto its contents. Vomiting, Torsten fell to his knees, desperately trying to keep Leviathan at bay. All the while, the roasting heat of the roaring flames around them sapped away at his ever dwindling energy.

"Seeing as you're about to die, perhaps I'll just tell you." Leviathan, astonishing the almost broken Torsten, broke free from him and away from his blade. Leviathan then grasped the young Master by the collar, morphing his bladed arms back into hands and fingers to do so, and raised him to his own head height. Torsten's feet barely touched the ground, leaving him dangling and just holding onto consciousness.

Leviathan sneered. "Xavier did it."

"Wha... What?" Torsten heard him, but the words refused to sink in. He couldn't believe it – refused to believe it.

"I heard things while 'asleep'. Things no one else was intended to hear. I heard Xavier Roux and Richter Amsel both wanted to start another Holy Grail War using my body. I heard Richter Amsel suggest there were too many unknowns – that I could be too powerful to control." Torsten could feel Leviathan's grip tighten, almost ripping his shirt in two as he said his last few words. "I heard Xavier Roux and Richter Amsel argue. I heard Richter Amsel scream as Xavier Roux activated a curse he had ready for just such an occasion."

Torsten couldn't take much more. "Stop." He wrapped his hands around Leviathan's wrists, trying to release himself, but to no avail. The homunculus was much too strong.

"I heard Richter Amsel fall to the floor before me, as Xavier Roux told him he had but a month to live, saying that he needed the Grail more than he needed his old friend." Leviathan dropped his sneer. His voice froze over as he went quiet against the roar of the flames around them, yet he could still be heard eerily clear above them. "Xavier Roux murdered your father for my sake, young Torsten Amsel."

Torsten made no reply. There was nothing he could say in reply that would work. A sick feeling deep down inside Torsten told him that Leviathan was telling the truth. Now, the first thought that emerged from his mind was-

"Whatever will you tell young Josephine?" Leviathan's sick grin was back, more arrogant and malicious than ever, his words slicked with venom that threatened to seep into Torsten's brain. "Can you handle telling her that her father is not only a murderer, but the reason your own father is dead? What if she doesn't believe you? What if she rejects you?"

Leviathan's questions began to do their job, sucking out what little eagerness to fight back Torsten had remaining. "Please..."

Leviathan paused for a second, letting the faintest hope of mercy set in. "What if she already _knows?_" Torsten hung his head. "Don't worry, Torsten, you can relax... You won't facing Josephine again in the first place."

"Räumlich Einsturz."

In a flash of light a horrifying splatter of red, Leviathan's left forearm exploded as the space around it was constricted and warped to the size of a grain of sand then expanded outward again. Torsten's Crest illuminating the gore he had unleashed upon the beast. Letting out a haunting scream of pain, Leviathan dropped the young Master, who was now coated in the homunculus' blood and stumbled backwards.

"...wouldn't lie..." Torsten mumbled as he tried to stand up. His vision was hazy, his heart was racing, and fragments of Leviathan's bones had lodged themselves in his right hand, rendering it almost useless. "Jo wouldn't lie to me!"

"You could have escaped with a quick death," Leviathan roared, shaking the mangled stump of his arm in the air before him. "But I think you deserve something more!"

Leviathan morphed his left arm back into a blade and his right mangled itself into what looked like a broken version of it's original form and charged. Torsten was out of time. He could barely stand, yet, Leviathan seemed unperturbed even from the loss of his hand. He projected a scythe to defend himself before Leviathan met him.

"Pointless!" Leviathan raised his right arm high as he approached and brought it down hard. Torsten rasied his projection up as a barrier, but it shattered as the bladed arm cut through it and continued downward. It's tip just reached Torsten's body, scoring a massive gash down his right side. As he was still reeling, Leviathan planted a foot in his stomach and sent him flying backwards.

Landing hard, Torsten realised that his collarbone had been torn apart. Immediately, Leviathan was upon him, about to impale him like before. This time, he aimed for Torsten's body in the hopes of keeping him alive for more punishment. Torsten's right hand brushed against something as he lay there, barely able to move. He wrapped his hand around it's smooth surface, his skin tearing as bone fragments were disturbed, knowing exactly what it was.

As Leviathan lunged downwards, his right arm pointed forward, Torsten put all the strength he had into heaving up the object in his right hand. Through the pain, the confusion and the terror, it lifted off the ground and fast. It swung up and Torsten closed his eyes.

_SHUNK_. A ghastly sound of rending flesh.

"AARGH." Torsten opened his eyes to see Leviathan frozen in place with the scythe that Roux had thrown stuck through one side of body and protruding out the other. However, Leviathan still lived.

"Little... FOOL!" Leviathan screamed as he ripped the scythe out of his side. As he did so, a ripple cascaded around the ring of flames they were both trapped in. The fire warped and fizzled, as if the damage to Leviathan had disturbed his ability to keep up his Reality Marble within a Reality Marble.

Torsten rolled out of the way as Leviathan used his blunted left arm like a hammer, slamming the ground where he had lay. It burst and cracked as if it had been pummelled by a jack-hammer. Torsten kept rolling up and roughly onto his feet. He could feel his consciousness fading as blood loss, fatigue and heat fought to steal it away. This was it.

Leviathan turned, blood dripping from his mouth and teeth bared. He wasted no time and went after Torsten. Torsten waited for him to come.

The blunted arm came first. Torsten batted it away with the scythe, almost falling over in the process.

Then came the bladed arm. Torsten couldn't stop it. With no other option, he made one last attempt to attack. He shuffled to one side, hoping the right arm would miss it's mark and swung wildly with the scythe. Before it landed, he felt a sharp pain in his left arm and a hard tug as if it was being dragged to the ground. He fell as his swung finished it's arc, slicing deep and down across Leviathan's chest.

As Torsten hit the ground, he saw the walls of flames begin to lose stability, flashing brighter then weakening over and over before everything went black.

* * *

><p>Roux hadn't moved from where she knelt. There was nothing she could do to the tower column of black flesh swaying in the river before her, Torsten could come back and need her help and, most of all, there was nowhere else to go. As she slumped on the fractured bridge, she had watched as the massive jaws of the Hellmouth had begun to rise out of the ground around the entire city of Lyon. The ground had shook, cracked and shuddered as the massive mouth began to close around it.<p>

_When it closes, we're all dead. There's no escape once we get sealed in here,_ Roux lamented to herself.

That was when a blast of heat swept out before her. Roux covered her face and eyes from the burning air as the flames that were there only minutes ago had partially reformed. This time, they were sparse and dying around two figures in the centre. Leviathan and Torsten had returned.

Roux leapt to her feet, rapier at the ready. The smaller silhouette amongst the flames was lying on the ground in a heap. It was clearly Torsten. Leviathan, on the other hand, was standing. She quickly noticed as the flames continued dying, he was missing an arm and his chest was so badly wounded, the skin was flapping off his ribcage. It was grotesque enough a sight she had to tear her gaze away before she gagged. Instead, she looked back to Torsten.

He wasn't moving. He was facing away from Roux and she couldn't see his face. Dread crept up on her, but she shook it away and steeled herself. With no hesitation, she ran forward, vaulting over the remains of the flame wall, now barely two feet high. Leviathan stumbled backwards, unbalanced and apparently reeling from his massive wound.

Against her better judgement, judgement that screamed to finish everything now and kill Leviathan, she made for Torsten first. As she drew closer, she saw it – a small lump of flesh lying by his body. One end was bloody and ragged. The other had had a hand and fingers.

"Oh no..." Roux gasped under her breath, dropping to her knees by Torsten's side. She rolled him onto his back to find him breathing; he lived yet, but he was barely conscious. Blood oozed from the stump that remained of his left arm, cut off above the elbow, and all the other open wounds scattered on his body while he looked around himself, delirious.

"Jo...?"

"You may think it a Godsend that he is still amongst the living..." Leviathan's voice hoarse and drawn. "But it just means that he gets to watch you die."

In a display of shocking speed, the crippled Leviathan used his state of unbalance to force all his weight forward, propelling himself into a run. He stopped just short of Roux and Torsten, both unable to do anything. Leviathan let fly his leg. His foot connected sharply with Roux's head, sending her sprawling backwards and away from Torsten.

Kneeling, he grabbed the barely conscious Torsten by the collar and lifted him up. "Now, now, Torsten Amsel. You need to be awake for this!" Leviathan shook Torsten's almost limp body, prompting a response.

The young Master flailed his arms weakly, unaware his left arm in fact lay on the ground. All the while, the jaws of the Hellmouth kept closing, churning up the grounds around Lyon and threatening to seal everyone stuck inside forever – trapped in Hell on Earth.

"Don't… touch her!" Torsten wheezed, returning to some semblance of consciousness. He slowly began to realise there was something wrong with his left arm as Leviathan dragged him towards Roux. He planned to make Torsten watch everything - the pain, the torture, the false hope he would bestow upon her and then, finally, the kill. However, as Leviathan marched forward upon Roux who was struggling to get up off the ground, Torsten had to inspect his arm.

He tried to wriggle his fingers. Nothing.

He tried to flex bend his elbow. Nothing.

Finally, he wrapped his right arm around to meet his lost digits, hoping they had simply gone numb. When his finger met nothing but a bloody and fleshy stump, he almost passed out from shock.

_My arm is gone. I have no left arm. _As the thoughts fired through his dull brain, his eyes locked upon the rest of his limb lying on the ground behind himself and Leviathan. _How… How can I save us now?_

"Torsten…" The young Amsel's mind focused on Roux's weak voice. "Don't. Give. Up. You're not allowed to quit here."

Leviathan was now towering above Roux who was still trying to stand. Instead, she tried to scramble away on her back. Swing Torsten around so he could witness everything, Leviathan slammed a foot down hard on Roux's ankle, breaking it and pinning her. She held in her urge to scream, instead focusing her pain into rage. She lashed out with her rapier, only for Leviathan to move Torsten into its path. She pulled it away just in time to avoid him by millimetres.

There was one hope left. Torsten had to try. "Saber, I command… you to save us…"

"What?" Leviathan snarled.

"Save us!" Torsten raised his voice as much as he could.

It was when everyone waited in silence for a few seconds that it dawned on him. Leviathan had taken his left arm – the arm upon which his Command Seals rested. With his arm cut off he had no contact with his Seals and was no longer a Master to his own Servant.

"I see!" Leviathan began to shake as he laughed like a madman. "I took away your Command Seals! They were on your arm somewhere! You know, I wouldn't be too disappointed if I were you. Even if you had your Seals, it wouldn't help. Saber is dead."

"Not if I have a say, beast!"

The all too familiar accent of Saber burst through the melee. He was still partially ethereal, but he stood behind Leviathan with his sword already raised to deal the decisive blow. "NO!" Leviathan screamed, spinning around and freeing Roux, to try and get Torsten in the way of his own Servant's fury.

Saber would have none of it. His planned had worked – he dropped his sword from high above his head, letting it fall to the ground behind him with an almighty clatter. Before Leviathan could make sense of what happened, Saber clamped down hard on the arm that held his Master and tore him free of it, throwing Torsten aside to safety. As Leviathan yelled in pain, Saber realised he had broken some of the monster's fingers in the process. However, that did little to phase Leviathan as he looked to the ever dwindling slice of the night sky that was left visible. The Hellmouth's gargantuan jaws were almost entirely shut.

"It's too late!" Leviathan cried as he reformed his full arm into a blade. He lashed out at Saber, who could only stumble back over his own sword to avoid the blow – Saber didn't want to risk the fact that Leviathan, now channelling the Grail's mana instead of becoming the Grail itself could use that power to harm Servants. "Too late to save your Master, his little friend or yourself! The city will be sent to the depths of Hell, and I will continue until everyone is purged!"

As Leviathan took another swing, Saber ducked under it and retrieved his sword. He swept it up, ready to dissect Leviathan, only to have it stopped short. Leviathan blocked it with his malformed arm and let loose with another slash of his bladed arm. Saber bent himself to one side and avoided the blow, but it was clear that Leviathan wasn't simply going to lie down and die. Even worse, in Saber's weakened state, barely hanging onto his very existence, he couldn't fight back hard enough to simply end this before everything was lost.

As their battle raged on, Roux crawled over to Torsten, dragging her broken foot behind her. Torsten, missing and arm and reeling from shock, was conscious but confused. He rolled over to meet Roux as she approached and reached out his remaining hand. Roux took it. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not dead, but we're all going to be soon if we can't kill Leviathan." Roux ignored Torten's missing arm. Looking at what remained of it made her want to burst into tears, but she did not have the luxury. Neither did.

"I can do it." Torsten was absurdly frank. So frank that Roux believed he was in the middle of blood loss related delirium.

"H-how?" she felt she had to ask.

"Can you prop me up? I can't miss this or we really _are_ all dead," Torsten said, trying to lift himself with one arm and failing. "I need to face Leviathan."

Roux didn't hesitate to help him up, but she still worried he wasn't in his right mind. However, there was little left to either of them but to trust each other. She shuffled to his side and – making sure not aggravate her own ankle – lifted Torsten up so he could rest himself against her and they sat together.

It was surreal. Roux and Torsten sat together as many couples do, shoulder to shoulder holding each other. Yet, they saw witness to the last fight for the entire fate of the Grail War, Lyon and perhaps the world. For a few seconds both of them watched – Torsten with a certain level of concentration and Roux because there was nothing else she could do.

The battle between Leviathan and Saber was a shambles. Both were exhausted and wounded, leaving the fighters uncoordinated and sloppy. Torsten's plan relied on them locking blades and not having the strength to tear themselves apart. Then, and only then, could he strike.

"Torsten, just what-" As Roux began to speak, there was a massive crash as Saber and Leviathan finally locked blades. Roux watched as Torsten raised his right arm, the Amsel Crest lighting up as he did so. Roux knew what was about to happen now.

"Hold him there, Saber!" Torsten cried out. Saber did not look to his Master, but he heard him. He took a hand from his blade and grasped Leviathan fractured limb.

Leviathan looked at Saber, then at Torsten and realised what was going on. "No!"

Pointing his open hand at Leviathan, Torsten clenched it shut. "Raumlich… Einsturz!"

Its effect was frighteningly swift. First, Leviathan froze as the space around him began to encroach upon his very body. Saber tore his hand away just in time to avoid getting it caught in the warping of space. Then it was clear it became painful, as Leviathan tried to scream, but his mouth could not open. Bones began to give way, snapping in place. His bladed arm snapped into many pieces and looked as if there floating as the tightening of space pulled them into the centre of Leviathan's mass. Then, Leviathan's spine gave way and his entire body compressed into a sickening ball of flesh, bones and blood. Roux turned away and even Torsten closed his eyes, keeping his arm steady. Saber kept watch, making sure he did not somehow recover from Torsten's spell.

Normally, this is where Torsten would stop. However, he couldn't risk Leviathan surviving. Instead, he kept building and building the mana he poured into the spell, crushing Leviathan's grotesque remains smaller and smaller. Eventually, it reached the point where it was no larger than a golf ball. Then a pin head. Then it disappeared altogether.

Torsten only stopped when Saber approached the pair of Masters and touch his shoulder. "It's over, lad."

He dropped his arm, and opened his eyes to see that where Leviathan stood, there wa nothing left. No blood or remains of any kind. "What happened to him?"

"He jes' kind of disappeared. He grew so small ye couldnae see him and it seems he's been entirely destroyed, down tae the cell." Saber kneeled at his Master's side and began to help him up.

Torsten looked to the sky. "Look!"

All of them looked to the Hellmouth above them to see it begin to fade away. Even near them, the massive tongue-like tendril that had burst from the Rhine was started to simply ebb away and fade from existence. They all watched as the Hellmouth, finally vanished for good.

"It's over…" Roux gasped. "It's over!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Leviathan is no more! It's been far too long in the making, but the end of Fate/Gallica is upon us all. Two more chapters and the tale is over.

I really hope everyone liked this. I feel like I made this final confrontation a touch too long, but I couldn't help myself drawing out as much action as I could. I'll let you readers be the judge of all this though.

We're not quite done with Fate/Gallica, but when we are, the tale of this little branching 'Fate' based world most certainly won't be - I've already uploaded the first chapter (a teaser of sorts) of the sequel to Fate/Gallica called 'Thorns'. Give it a look!

As per usual, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Hopefully the next two chapters will come out together and the end of F/G will really be here. Tune in next time!


	45. Tranquille

Chapter 45  
>Tranquille<p>

For a few seconds, Roux, Torsten and Saber waited in something akin fear for either the Hellmouth or Leviathan to show themselves again. It was only after a cool breeze flowed across the surface of the Rhine and wafted against the three survivors – a breeze that had been prevented from entering the stagnant Reality Marble that Lyon had been engulfed in.

"It… It really is over," Torsten groaned as he wriggled in Roux's grip. Every part of his body ached as if he had been flattened by a steamroller. With each breathe he took, a wave of pain crashed through his body. However, he took solace in the fact he could still make those painful breaths.

Saber fell to his knees, his sword falling from his grip and clattering hard against the ground. "Bloody hell…" His eyes locked onto the remains of Torsten's left arm – a ragged stump that slowly oozed blood through burnt flesh. He had noticed it before, but now he could see the extent of Leviathan's handiwork. "He got you good, eh lad?"

Against his better judgement, Torsten let out a pathetic chuckle. It ended prematurely when he almost fainted from the pain. "And you look just fantastic."

"Quiet!" Roux said, interrupting. She shifted her weight away from Torsten but held on and looked at his arm for herself. "We need to get you help and fast."

"Look no further." A familiar voice. All three turned to see its source and found Chevalier, covered head-to-toe in blood and struggling to walk on one leg, but alive. He took a half-step as he saw the expressions on Roux and Torsten's faces. "Oh, it's not my blood. Well, most of it isn't." No one decided to ask questions.

Kneeling down and pulling open his mostly torn cassock, Chevalier tore a piece of his white undershirt off and began wrapping it like a bandage around Torsten's left arm. He tied it tight to stop what little bleeding there was and did his best to cover the open wound at the same time. "This won't do for very long, but it should cover you for now."

"Thanks." Torsten's delirium was being balanced by the sheer relief that everyone had survived. "You're both okay?" He looked to the priest and Roux.

"Better than expected," Chevalier joked.

Roux tried to shift her leg and winced. "Mostly." Chevalier, having just finished with Torsten's arm, switched to Roux's leg. "Yeouch, that's- OW!"

"This needs looking at too – it's beyond my expertise beyond making some kind of splint…" Chevalier looked around for something sturdy enough to make the splint. Finding nothing, he shakily got up and went scavenging. "I'll be back."

As he walked off, Saber shuffled himself closer to his former Master. No words were spoken, but Torsten and Roux knew as Masters what was next. Saber, as a Servant, couldn't sustain himself any longer without the Grail. With Leviathan gone, the War complete without his sacrifice to become the Grail, it was beyond time for him to fade away until perhaps the next Holy Grail War. For a time, they all sat in silence. Torsten hoped that if he didn't think about it, Saber could stay longer. However, it wasn't long before Saber placed a gentle hand on his Master's shoulder.

"This is it, lad."

"I'm sorry, Saber." Torsten hung his head. "For all of this."

"Bah, shut up ye fool." Saber made to bat his Master on the back, only to remember he was missing a limb. "Before ye even start, there's nothing tae be sorry for – you summoned me, I'm your Servant and protect you no matter what. Just you be happy that I did."

"Saber's right," Roux said. "Lancer and Saber accepted the calls to them we made when we tried to join the War. They knew it could end in disaster. We made it through because of that." She paused for a second. "You really should be thanking him, you know."

Torsten looked Saber in the eye. "Thank you Saber." Grabbing Saber with one arm and falling into him, Torsten hugged his Servant tight. "Thank you for protecting Jo and I. I… I can't imagine making it alive with any other Servant at my side."

Saber returned the embrace. It was gentle and weak – Saber had seconds left. "It was a pleasure. You take care of our Roux, eh?" He let Torsten go to look him the eye. Torsten started to choke up and couldn't utter a word. He tried, but they wouldn't come out. Eventually, he just nodded.

"You don't have to worry about Torsten," Roux said. "I can take care of him too."

Saber achingly stood up and began walking away. "It's time." He took a few steps and both Roux and Torsten realised he was simply fading away, his back to the pair of them. He kept walking, his very body becoming fainter and fainter as he moved further away. "Maybe I'll see ye on the other side sometime."

Two more steps and Saber was gone.

Torsten couldn't hold back the tears that had been threatening to pour out since Leviathan was killed. "Oh God…" The pain of his injuries, the loss of his arm, Saber leaving and the relief of seeing Roux alive at his side left him with little other ability but to weep.

It was then that Chevalier return, a pair of metal poles in his hand and a piece of torn up carpet draped over his shoulder. "Let's get you two fixed up and we can get out of here."

* * *

><p>It wasn't long before a one-armed Torsten, supported by a blood covered Chevalier who also supported a limping Roux was shuffling slowly back to the Roux estate. They had left Torsten's severed arm behind – with his wound cauterised, he a reattachment was not likely any time soon, according to the priest as he lifted both of them off the ground before their journey home.<p>

As they walked down the ruined streets of Lyon, they were passed by all manner of bedraggled, exhausted and injured survivors of the apocalypse that Leviathan had failed to complete. Most never paid any mind to the group of three and instead were scurrying around in their own little broken worlds, looking for loved ones, authorities or anything they could salvage to keep themselves alive.

Along with the survivors, there were many dead bodies. There was a mixed between turned people that had all died as the ethereal power that fuelled them was sucked away with Leviathan's defeat and those who did not escape from the turned's violence. Looking at all of the innocent fallen, Torsten couldn't help but wonder about Chevalier.

"How exactly did you… escape, Guillaume?" Torsten asked, even if the priest's blood soaked appearance should have been evidence enough.

Torsten met eyes with Chevalier and thought he saw something different in them than usual. Something violent. With a small blink, that something disappeared and Chevalier's warmness returned. "It's probably best you didn't know. Needless to say, it wasn't easy." As Chevalier stopped talking, neither Roux nor Torsten pressure him for more. After a few seconds, he decided to break the awkward silence. "Are you two okay?"

Roux almost laughed. "What does it look like to _you_?"

"I mean, are you two _feeling_ okay?"

There was another pause where both Torsten and Roux had to think about how to answer. Torsten spoke first. "I'll manage."

"That's hardly an answer." Chevalier groaned. "This is no time to be acting like you're tough enough to handle anything thrown at you. You both just went through more than most will go through in a lifetime." More silence as Roux decided to keep her mouth shut. She had not the patience and barely the energy to bother with much more than making sure she got home.

* * *

><p>After a few hours of shuffling through the city, the three survivors reached the Roux mansion. Torsten may have been worse for wear before, but Roux's broken leg was becoming so painful she had to resist the urge to scream as she lowered it to the foyer floor. Chevalier immediately lifted her up to relieve the pressure. "Uh-uh, I need to work on it first. Torsten, give me a-" He made a quick save. "Help me here."<p>

Giving Chevalier little more than a deserved glare, Torsten managed to steady himself and help support Roux. The pair ferried her to the living room and lay her on the couch. Her face was covered with beads of sweat and she was shaking. "Shit, take off my shoe – the swelling!"

Chevalier, rougher than Roux had initially imagined, loosened the laces on her shoe and ripped it off her broken leg. Roux howled at first, but the release of pressure quickly helped the pain subside to bearable levels. Chevalier looked at her foot and ankle. No bone protruded through the skin, but there was definitely a break that threatened to do so. "You're lucky it didn't just tear right through. I can fix this, but it's going to hurt for a minute. I need to reset the bone before I actually try to heal it or it will fuse wrong."

"Just do whatever you have to." Roux bit her lip and prepared for the worst. Torsten collapsed to his knees at her side and grabbed her hand. For a second he almost fell over on the floor, unused to lacking the balance his other arm would have provided.

"Here it goes." Chevalier softly placed his hands around the broken bone. Roux's grip tightened on Torsten's hand in anticipation. "Three, two… One!" In one fast motion, Chevalier pressed down hard on the broken bone, lining it back up straight from where it had been broken. Roux screamed as pain fired up her leg, jerking up from where she lay. Her grip got so tight on Torsten's hand, she could have broken his fingers, but Torsten endured in his barely conscious state.

Falling back into the couch covered in sweat, Roux passed out and Chevalier began the process of applying what little healing magecraft to her leg. He could get it to the point that it would be but a fracture in the midst of repair. It was no miracle cure, but she could see a doctor to help her deal with the results of his work. Before he started, Chevalier looked over to Torsten who has also passed out on his knees, still holding onto Roux's hand. Deciding to leave him for now, Chevalier got to work.

* * *

><p>Torsten woke up in Roux's bed, the dull light of sunset spilling into the room from an open window. He had been asleep – nearly unconscious – for almost an entire day. For a few silent seconds, he lay there as his mind caught up with his awakened body. When it finally did, the faded memories of the night before rammed themselves into his mind and with it, a dull pain all over his body began to surface. HE tried to lift himself up, pain spiking everywhere, when his left arm wouldn't obey his commands and he could only drag himself up on one side.<p>

When he tried to feel out his unresponsive left arm that was the moment when the memory of what had happened to it returned to him. His fingers wrapped around what was left of it; a stump halfway down from his shoulder that was now wrapped in a bandage and properly cleaned. He could still feel his arm, as if it was still attached and fully functional. He knew this was a phantom effect and not real, but it did not change the fact that it felt like his missing arm was attached and being stretched and pulled at.

"Oh… Shit…" Torsten's voice was as clear as his mind, coming out in a rasp.. He looked around as he propped himself up on one side. The room was empty, but the other side of the bed looked recently used and Roux's clothes lay on the floor. He heard footsteps and looked to the doorway.

"Finally awake." Chevalier stood there, with a smile of relief across his face. He noticed Torsten's questioning eyes and relieved him of his fears. "Roux is downstairs getting something to eat. She woke up hours ago. I don't think she would have left your side if I hadn't made her do so."

Torsten nodded. "Thanks. Is she okay?"

"She's fine, Torsten. You need to worry about yourself." Chevalier motioned to his missing left arm. "You can still feel it, can't you? Your arm. It will pass in time."

Torsten swung himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Chevalier. He almost launched himself right off the bedside, but gripped the edge tightly with his right hand. "I feel… numb."

"That's also a common phantom limb symptom," Chevalier reassured, but Torsten shook his head.

"No. That's not what I mean. After all that's happened… I don't _feel anything_." Chevalier kept his mouth shut, his silence urging Torsten to continue. "Shouldn't I feel something? Shouldn't I be happy Roux and you are alive? Shouldn't I be sad that Lancer and Saber are gone? Shouldn't I be angry that fucking monster took my arm away from me?! Now, after what Leviathan has told me… How am I supposed to tell Jo?" Torsten trailed off.

Chevalier gave him a knowing smile. "This feeling too will pass. If there's anything I know how to do, it's to rebuild after falling apart. You're numb right now because there's too much to take in. Far too much. And no matter what it is that Leviathan told you, Josephine will understand. She can take it. Hey, if she can handle saving your butt, she can probably handle anything you throw at her."

"I hope you're right. About everything." Torsten sluggishly raised himself from the bed. Unbalanced at first, he took a few blundering steps to Chevalier's side. "Thank you, Guillaume. I don't know what Jo or I would have done without your help."

"We're all alive and the world isn't ending around our ears. That's all that matters."

* * *

><p>Chevalier helped Torsten downstairs and to the living room. It would take a while before Torsten could balance properly without the weight of his left arm. As they entered, they found Roux sitting comfortably on the couch, her bandaged leg splinted and resting firmly on the table before her. She looked up as the pair entered from the sandwich in she clutched tightly in her hands. "Hey sleepy-head."<p>

Torsten was, at first, taken aback at how chipper Roux was. As she quickly returned her attention to her sandwich for long enough to devour it in a few bites, she almost looked happy. "You look comfy."

She shrugged as she chewed on the food in her mouth. Torsten shuffled to sit at her side, flopping down limply, exhausted already. She smiled at him, trying to keep her mouth from overflowing. Chevalier made his way to a solitary armchair across from them. Suddenly, Torsten leaned over and wrapped his arm around her in a hug. "Thank God you're alive."

Swallowing her food quickly and almost choking on it in the process, Roux returned Torsten's embrace. "I could say the same about you. I wasn't the one trapped with Leviathan. What… happened in there?"

Leaning back into the couch again, Torsten stared at the ceiling and recalled last night. "The hardest fight of my life. He tried to break me. He knew of both our fathers and tried to use that against me." He chuckled softly. "I guess I was too stubborn for him. He almost had me so many times. I think I'm probably the luckiest man on Earth right now."

Roux licked her fingers clean and shuffled up closer to Torsten. "You did great out there. We'd all be dead if you hadn't fought him to that standstill. Don't worry about your arm either – I have a plan. I know someone who can help you. A few days rest and we can go see her. I just hope she is still where I was told she has been staying recently."

"Don't be silly. I would be dead if it wasn't for you being there." He swallowed back a tiny lump in his throat. "And Saber." He glanced at Chevalier who was merely smiling at the pair before him. "And you, of course, Guillaume."

"I probably would have been dead myself if it wasn't for your help in taking me in. We all kept each other alive. I'm proud of both of you," Chevalier spoke softly, sounding almost sad. "Your father in particular, would be proud, Torsten."

Torsten could only nod in reply. The feelings that had been dull when he had awoken were slowly coming back in bursts. He could feel the flow of feelings stop and start like a faucet being played with. One moment he could feel nothing, the next he could feel everything and needed to run away and hide from it all. But he didn't have that luxury right now. He had to tell Roux what Leviathan had confessed to him about their fathers.

Roux, however, struck first. "Torsten," she began, clearly nervous. "You said that Leviathan 'knew' our fathers. What you mean by that?"

Sighing heavily, terrified and relived at the same time, Torsten steeled himself. HE had no idea where this would really go, but he had little other option but to trust Roux. Of all people, she was the only one he could honestly trust without a doubt.

"Let me tell you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

The final number chapter! I'll give you an actual not on the epilogue, folks.


	46. L'Épilogue: La Promesse

L'Épilogue  
>La Promesse<p>

Two months after the end of the Lyon Holy Grail War, Josephine Roux found herself back home at the main Roux estate. It was enormous, with high vaulted, dark tile roofs and lustrous cream colour brick work. Its three stories towered over her personal cab as it pulled to the front door over the gravel driveway. The driver, a young man not much older than her, leaned back as the car came to a rest. "You sure this is the place?"

"Quite sure." Roux rustled around in her jeans pocket and took out a bundle of Euro notes. She withdrew two fifties from the bundle and handed them to the driver. When she refused change, his eyes lit up like stars.

"Why doesn't a girl like you, living in a place like this have a driver already?" asked the young man, his curiosity asking the question Roux had been suspecting would be coming.

Roux couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "It's complicated."

Exiting the car and saying her thanks to the driver, she stood before the main entrance to the Roux estate as the crunch of gravel underneath the cab's tires grew quieter and quieter. She didn't know if she could just enter this place she used to call a home knowing who was inside. Torsten had told her what Leviathan has said while the pair of them were trapped in that circle of fire. Xavier Roux, her father and head of the Roux dynasty, had conspired with Richter Amsel, Torsten's father and head of the Amsel dynasty, to restart the Holy Grail War with Leviathan's homunculus body. Richter realised Leviathan's power and objected, resulting in Xavier fatally cursing him. Her father is a murderer, if Leviathan was to be believed. She didn't know yet if she did, but the possibility sent a chill down her spine just thinking about it.

The sharp creak of the front doors opening in front of Roux snapped her from her hesitation to enter. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and she snapped to attention, knowing there was only two people it could be. As the person came into to view, she found it was an older woman who looked quite like herself. Dressed in a half open fencer's uniform revealing the black chest binder on the body beneath it and still holding an Italian-grip foil, the woman had long auburn hair that reached her waist, a braid circling the back of head and un-Earthly blue eyes that appeared luminescent even in daylight.

"Mother!"

Roux leapt forward, arms wide open, and hugged her mother tightly. Fully expecting it, Aurore spread her arms just in time to catch her daughter and returned the embrace.

"I… I missed…" Roux's grip tightened as tears began to well up in her eyes. Her worries melted away as she took in her mother's all too familiar scent. The warmth of her touch as she rubbed Roux's, the softness of her hair on Roux's cheek – it all seemed to say to Josephine Roux that it was finally okay.

* * *

><p>After finally releasing her mother, Roux and her mother walked together into the main hall of their home. The high, vaulted ceiling of pure white shone down on the pair as their footsteps echoed around the room off every pristine wall.<p>

"Did anything happen while I was away?" As Roux asked her question, she made hand gestures that translated into a dialect of sign language. Aurore Roux had perfect hearing yet, since Roux was a young child, she had not spoken a word. Not because was not willing, but because she was not able. Roux never learned the cause – neither her father nor mother would explain it in any way – but she had never heard her mother's voice since she was six years old. Only Aurore really needed to know how to utilise sign language, but Roux liked to know both how to use and to read it. It was a connection with her mother that even her father never bothered to make.

Aurore smiled, although Roux could tell there was a certain element of forcedness to it. She signed in reply. _You're father and I were very worried, but Father Chevalier visited shortly after the War ended. _She paused in her signing, as if she wasn't sure how to phrase the next sentence. _He told use that you were safe and… That Torsten Amsel was safe too. I'm surprised he's not with you given the circumstances. Guillaume said he didn't escape the War unscathed like you did._

Taking a deep breath, expecting questions about Torsten. Again, she signed along as she spoke. "He's alive. For the last two weeks we've been in Japan making sure we got him a new arm." She made a nervous laugh. "We spent a fair amount of time with Touko Aozaki."

Even in silence, Aurore's motions of laughter were infectious. _Was she as cheerful as you remember?_

"Oh yes," Roux said, her grumbling carried even in her hands. "She almost killed us when we found where she was hiding. We're lucky that the family name gets us places, otherwise Torsten and I would be her next puppets. But, she calmed down and was kind enough to create an arm for Torsten."

Aurore's face fell, but she signed anxiously. _Chevalier did not say exactly what had happened to him. Why is he not with you? Chevalier did explain how Torsten got into the War. He can't go back home. _

Roux couldn't say out loud, but she did manage to sign. _On our last day in Japan… He left by himself. I don't know where he is, but he left a note. It said that he was leaving by himself to make sure I wouldn't be targeted and that he knew I would try to follow him if he told me where he was going. It also said I shouldn't look for him._

_Knowing his mother, I'm not surprised he would do that, _Aurore signed back. _ But he's taking a risk._

"I know." Roux rubbed her eyes. Now that she was home, she realised how tires she was. Even the two weeks in Japan had her on edge. When she and Torsten had arrived on Touko's doorstep, only a day later did someone try to force their way through her barrier and break into her workshop. They failed and escaped before they were identified, but it is only two people that would be out for Roux and Torsten's blood – Torsten's mother, Imelda Amsel, and Roux's own father, Xavier. Imelda Amsel was a cruel woman, far too prideful to let something like Torsten's insertion into the War go unpunished. If Roux's father was really Richter's killer then it's likely he would be out to kill anyone who had come into contact with Leviathan.

Roux decided to keep her suspicions to herself for the time being – she did not know how much Chevalier had told her parents or what to do if Leviathan was right. For now, she would wait and see.

"Where is father?" Roux signed nervously. She felt herself break into a cold sweat.

_He should be in the ground floor lounge, I suspect. _Aurore motioned to the foil still in her hand. _I just came back from fencing practice, as you can see_.

They reached the lounge door and Roux hesitated to open it.

Aurore gave her slightly puzzled look, but said nothing. Instead, she opened the door and walked straight in. And there, sitting an antique armchair a book in one hand and an empty rocks glass in the other, was Xavier Roux. His short blonde hair was slicked-back as usual, combined with his narrow face and sharp features gave him a harsh appearance that always exuded power. His constantly furrowed brow and vivid blue eyes confirmed he believe in that power.

Xavier looked up, at first looking annoyed his reading was interrupted. However, when he saw his daughter standing before him, he stood instantly. "Josephine! You've come back to us!" He strode towards her, discarding both his empty glass and the book to a coffee table as he moved and opened his arm. "Chevalier hadn't told us where you had run off to with Torsten – your mother and I were so worried!"

Roux snapped out of her nervousness and hugged her father as he reached her. Despite what she had learned her father could have done, she had missed him dearly. Like her mother, his scent, the sound of his voice – it all meant home and safety.

"I missed you." Xavier's grip was surprisingly tight. "But I knew you would survive – you're a Roux after all." Xavier held her shoulders. "Now, tell me, what happened?"

* * *

><p>Roux recounted the entire War from her perspective. Both her mother and father sat in silence as she spoke of meeting Torsten, finding a half-dead Chevalier at their door and finally confronting the monstrous Leviathan. It was strange going through the memories of the War. There was so much hurt there, but so much happiness too. Neither Roux or Torsten had explained the War to Touko Aozaki – she had expressed complete disinterest to the entire ordeal from the moment Torsten brought it up. She said that she had 'faced worse' in her own words.<p>

But now, retelling her story, Roux felt relieved that it was over. As she reached the end, the day after where Torsten had told her of what he had heard from Leviathan about the fate of his father at the hands of her own, she omitted it. For now, she would observe and investigate. Who knows what the truth was? If Xavier had been Richter's killer, he would hardly admit it now, to his wife and daughter. Instead, Roux explained how she and Torsten took to Japan to get him an arm and escape the fresh memories of the War for a time. Omitting the attempt on their lives there, she skipped to the present. "And that's about all there is to say. I'm just relieved to be back home."

Xavier's eyes almost seemed to sparkle after hearing of his daughter tale. "Amazing. That the Einzbern homunculus held such power is truly amazing. It's a wonder that you were able to defeat this Leviathan – the entire world of Magi was on a knife-edge for days afterwards, clearing up the mess and ensuring our way of life was not ruined." He sighed. "If only the Grail itself had survived. You certainly earned it." Aurore nodded in agreement, but Roux could swear her mother looked almost upset. Her smile was forced – her darkened eyes said everything.

"I couldn't have done it without Torsten's help," Roux admitted. "He was the one that ended up killing Leviathan for good, after all."

"Of course, of course. I was blown away when Chevalier had told us he was also in the War. I haven't contacted Imelda yet. I thought he would be with you. Is he alright? Where is he?" Xavier asked his questions quickly with a small rise in volume. If he was her father, Roux would swear she was being interrogated.

"I don't know where he is. When Touko finished work on his arm, he left saying that he had to, just in case his mother was looking for him. He didn't want me to be caught in any kind of fight he had with her."

"So you have no idea where he is?" Xavier emphasised.

Roux's cold sweat began again. "No, I don't. He never said where he was going. He just left. Why, is there a problem?" Her frustration began to show in her voice before she could stop it.

Xavier's eyes narrowed for a split second before he smiled. "I just worry for the boy, that's all. He lost his father, he was dragged through the War only to be maimed and now his mother will probably require punishment of him for sneaking his way into the War in the first place. He would have been safer to come to us first."

"Well, he obviously didn't think so." Roux put an end to the line of questioning. She looked again to her mother who still looked like something was wrong. She hadn't signed anything and let Xavier talk. That was unlike her.

Xavier cut through her thought like a knife. "Ah well. We'll just need to keep an eye for the boy then, shan't we? For now, I think you'd best get some rest. You look like you could use some sleep."

Happy to be free of the tense atmosphere that had dropped over the room, Roux agreed. "I'll be in my room if you need me."

As she reach the lounge door, Xavier stood. "Josephine?"

"Yes?"

"It's good to have you back with us."

"It's good to be back." She wished it didn't feel like a lie to say it, however.

* * *

><p>As Roux returned to her room, her sanctuary, she collapsed on her bed. She was mentally exhausted. She had too many questions with no answers, doubts that were not assuaged and fears that were only exacerbated now. Maybe Leviathan was right? But if he was, what was going here? It couldn't be that simple. She couldn't believe her father would kill Richter Amsel for such a reason. But why be so adamant about where Torsten was?<p>

She still had one ray of hope. The last line of Torsten note that he left her: _I will be back – I promise_. With just that promise, she knew she didn't have to worry about him. He could take care of himself now. If anything good came of the War for Torsten, it was teaching him to stand up on his own two feet.

Roux had to do the same. The Holy Grail War was only the beginning, she feared. There was something else going with her father. Whether she liked it or not, she was right in the middle as the next in line of the Roux family.

_One way or another, I'll get to the bottom of this. That, Torsten, is my promise._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Well, that's it for Fate/Gallica! Woo!

I won't prattle, there's little use for it. However, I will say my thanks to anyone who has read this and at least somewhat enjoyed it. It's been a big deal for me to write this and a lot of fun. It's the first story I've ever finished. I hope it's the beginning of more to come!

A small reminder that while Fate/Gallica is over, the trials for Torsten Amsel and Josephine Roux are _not!_ I already have two chapters of the sequel, _Thorns_, uploaded if you're interested on reading more about this little tale I've been working on.

As always, I hope you've enjoyed reading and I hope you tune in for _Thorns_!_  
><em>


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